


Howler & the Black Cat

by kentuckybarnes (hannah_jpg)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Nighttime Vigilantes, Secret Identities, love square
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-10-30 11:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17827751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_jpg/pseuds/kentuckybarnes
Summary: By day, you’re just another employee at Stark Tower. By night? A justice-seeker known as Black Cat. No one knows your secret, and certainly not your sometime partner in vigilante activity, sometime-pain in the butt Romeo, Howler. But no matter how hard he tries, you have no intention of giving in…





	1. Strut

"Okay, and...smile."

The responding smiles can  _almost_  pass as genuine, instead of pained. Pressing your lips together, you take the shot, and as you lower your phone the group breaks apart, sighing and moaning and complaining up a storm.

"Can I go now?" Clint asks, wheedling.

"Sure," Tony replies, cleaning his sunglasses with his suit coat. "I'll call ahead to the restaurant and tell them to take a reservation off the list."

"Wait - " Clint starts to say, and you bite back a smile as you flip through the shots you'd gotten on your phone. Not bad - a little photoshop to make sure everyone's eyes are open, and you can have it posted by that night. Being the social media marketer for the Avengers requires many things - patience is the foremost of them. Something in you is sure Clint had blinked each time on purpose.

The picture had been perfectly timed - a few seconds later, and the heavy doors of City Hall are thrown open and a dozen or so people start filing out, winding around the Avengers still hovering on the stone steps. Some stop to talk to Tony or Steve or Natasha, but most hurry to the street where their cars are waiting.

Maybe Stark will want a statement from one of the city officials. You take a few steps back up towards City Hall, smiling as you meet Sam's eyes as he starts down, Bucky at his side.

"Will you be at the dinner tonight?" Sam asks with a toothy grin.

"I'm thinking about it," you admit. "I was going to ask Tony if he wants coverage."

"Probably. You know he loves coverage."

You laugh. "True."

"We're gonna go get some coffee - want some?"

"Um - " you start to say, but out of the corner of your eye, you see a small tussle - as you think fast, trying to form words for Sam, you try to listen in. The words are indecipherable, but the tone is not. A man in a suit; a woman he is detaining, holding onto her arm as she tries to claw him away.

"No! I won't!" says the woman's voice, shrill and loud. Immediately you tense, but the man lets her go, and the confrontation is over.

"Er - hello?" Sam waves a hand in front of your face, and you jolt back. Bucky is shifting his weight, and you gulp.

"Yeah, coffee sounds great," you manage to say, and without realizing, your eyes flicker back to the man, who is stomping down the steps now, alone. The woman is still standing there, her face full of terror as she pulls her coat tight around her neck. Your eyes narrow, and you force yourself to look back at Sam. "Yes, thank you."

Sam grins, and elbows Bucky - Bucky frowns, gives you a nod, and follows Sam down the rest of the steps.

With a statement from the deputy mayor and another one from Stark, your job at City Hall is done. Tony dismisses you, and you hop down the steps just as Sam and Bucky return with coffee. Bucky is still frowning as Sam passes you a cup.

"Thanks," you say fervently. "I'm heading back to the Tower now. Got some work to finish before tonight."

"Better get it done before dinner," Sam says, pointing a finger at your face, but his grin is infectious.

"Yes, Sammy," you tease. "I won't miss it. I know how lonely you get around groups of people."

Bucky snorts.

"As long as you're there," Sam chuckles. "See you tonight."

"Bye, guys!"

With a wave you set off the sidewalk towards the metro, smiling fading as you contemplate what you'd seen on the steps. The man, the woman, the threat. It'll be a time crunch, to deal with the man after the dinner party - he'll be there, due to his position with the city - but there's no way you can leave it be. Especially if you have a chance to talk to the woman at the dinner...

* * *

Far above the city streets, the sounds of honking and screeches, breaks and shouts are distant. Ignorable. The air is chill, and you lick your lips as you wait for the window your eyes are trained on to go dark. He's been home for over an hour already. It's showtime.

You have to be at work in four hours. Any minute now...

Crouched on a concrete ledge, you have a camera set up with a good vantage into the man's fourteenth-floor suite in his high-security building. But the night doorman is inside and out of the cold, and most of the traffic is on the far side of the building. Here, it's utterly still - even the breeze doesn't disturb you.

Lights out. Finally.

Quickly and silently, you uncurl yourself from your position and start down the fire escape of the building. A swing, and you're on the fourteenth floor. A dark window. Peering inside - there's nothing to see in the living room. No movement. Carefully you pull a lock pick from your belt, and make quick work of the old-fashioned lock on the antique window. You slide it open - no alarm. No cameras, either. Cushy job.

Lithly you swing in through the window, your feet landing silently on the hardwood floor. A tense moment. No sounds. No, wait - a cough, from behind a closed door somewhere. You prowl down the hallway. No lights from under any doors - that's fine. At the end, you pause. A rustling beyond the door. A grunt.

You twist the doorknob, and push it open.

A yelp.

You close the door behind you, eyes on the man standing beside a desk, robe hanging open. Angrily his brows draw together, and he practically spits,

"Excuse you - what do you think you're doing - "

"Delivering a message," you say coolly, and jerk your head towards the desk chair. "Please, sit."

He glowers. "I'm going to call the police - "

"When we're done. Sit. I won't ask again."

A hesitation. Then he obeys. Good. There's wariness in his eyes as his eyes fasten on you, unstringing a length of rope to twist around his wrists to secure them to the armrests of the chair.

"Need you to stay still for a little bit," you inform him, pretending to be rueful as you cinch a knot, and he winces. "You know who I am," you add.

"A criminal."

"I prefer the term vigilante."

"Criminal," he repeats, and a fleck of spit his your cheek. You grimace.

"Whatever makes you feel better," you say, with a long-suffering sigh. You stride towards where he's sitting, one hand on a knife at your side. His eyes flicker to it - then back up to your face, and he licks his lips. His breath is short. Good. Fright is good.

"Why are you here?" he demands.

"Just wanna chat a bit about how you treat your employees," you say sweetly, and absently you tap the desk. Some papers, that don't look interesting. A quill and inkwell. That's a little more interesting.

"I haven't done anything illegal," the man insists.

"Oh, please. Every politician has done something illegal. That'll come to light sooner or later - and that's none of my business. I'm talking about how you threatened your secretary outside City Hall today."

The man's face drains of blood. His Adam's apple bobs in a swallow. Then, voice hoarse, he asks, "Are you...gonna kill me?"

You shrug. "Depends on if I'm feeling generous."

Need you explain that the deaths attributed to your vigilante persona weren't your fault? The thief that had run into the street to get away from you, too dumb to look both ways? The drug dealer that had cut himself on a rusty bit of sheet metal during a fight and died of tetanus?

Nah.

"I'll pay you," he blurts suddenly, his knuckles white on the armrest as he strains at the ropes. "I have money, I have things you can sell - "

Your face burns. Snarling now, you plant a foot on the chair between his crotch, fingers curling around the labels of his bathrobe and dragging his face close to yours. His voice ends on a squeak, and you let him tremble.

"You think I'm a petty thief?" you ask softly, watching the terror cloud over his eyes. "You think I - "

But your words are cut off - a sudden  _crash_  sends you reeling backwards from the man, and you throw your arm up to protect your face as slivers of glass explode throughout the room. A pair of heavy boots land on the ground. With a scowl you glance up to see a tall man clad in black, face partially obscured by a mask as he grins at you, unhooking a rappelling line from his belt.

"You," you growl, lip curling.

"Me," he replies pleasantly, his deep voice enough to make shivers crawl up your spine as he tucks some fallen hair back behind his ear. "Hello,  _kitten_."

"Don't call me that,  _dog_."

The man in the chair whimpers.

"I have this handled," you say, eyes not straying from the newcomer as he strides over, crossing his arms as he studies the man you've tied up. "You're just making my job harder. Someone's gonna notice the busted window."

"Your  _job_? What, you get paid for this? Where can I sign up for a paycheck?"

"Ha, ha." Despite yourself, you can't help smiling as you see his face stretch in a lazy grin. Need you clarify that he makes your job harder by distracting you, with those vibrantly blue eyes hidden behind his mask, and a laugh that makes your heart leap out of your chest?

Nope.

"What do you have him for?" He jerks his head towards the man.

"Threatening a woman. His secretary. I paid her a visit earlier this evening - blackmail, too." Your steps crunch on the glass across the floor as you shift your weight.

"Very clever of you, Black Cat." There's a hint of mocking in his voice, and your face burns under your own mask.

"Why are you here, Howler?"

"Felt like prowling around, that's all."

"Uh huh." You don't believe him, not for a minute. He turns up far to often where you're working for it to be coincidence. You just haven't figured out how he knows, yet.

"Shall we get on with it?" That infectious grin again. You nod curtly. Howler's grin turns feral, and his fingers dig into the man's shoulder - whose eyes squeeze shut with another whimper. "Listen to the lady, pal," Howler orders.

You lean over slightly, so your eyes are level with the man's. He peeks open to stare at you, his left eye twitching.

"If I get word from your secretary that you are threatening her or anyone else again, I'm going to pull out your fingernails one by one," you say pleasantly. "And you'll be in prison before they can grow back. Do you understand?"

There's some stubbornness in his gaze - but it's overwhelmed by the fear. Howler's fingers tighten on the man's shoulder, and he winces, squirming. "I understand! I understand!"

"She's letting you off easy, pal," Howler says, conversationally.

You straighten, quirking a brow as you meet Howler's blue eyes. Too blue. He probably wears those special contacts to see in the dark, like you. Which is why there's no real reason for your pulse to quicken.

"I'm very nice, you know," you say, lips twitching as a smile tries to force its way out.

"I wouldn't consider tying a man upside down from a seventh story window as nice," Howler replies, eyes twinkling. He's referring to an incident about a month or so ago - he hadn't been there, but clearly he'd heard the news.

"Oh?" you ask. "Then what would you consider it?"

"Ballsy. And cool."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be. I don't just compliment  _everyone's_ methods." His grin crinkles his nose, half-hidden beneath his mask, which makes your veins shoot through with cozy fire. "So, what'd he do? The other one."

"Robbed a homeless man."

Howler's lips twist in a scowl.

"Are you done with me?" The man's squeaky voice cuts through the conversation, and you blink. You'd nearly forgotten he was there. Oops.

"I'm not sure my message got across," you say lightly. "What do you say to a broken thumb, Howlie?"

Howler grins. "Don't have to ask me twice, kitten."

**"Are you always so easily convinced?"**

"Guess you'll have to find out." His eyes stay fixed on you, a little thrillingly, as he bends slightly to wrench up the fingers of the man, curled around the armrest. Immediately the man starts blabbering, begging - but he's ignored.

"Would you care to have the honors?" Howler asks, voice laced with teasing.

"No, thank you. Just had my outfit dry cleaned. Not interested in any blood splatters tonight."

He chuckles - there's a brisk  _snap_  - and the man howls. But you're riveted by Howler's eyes -  _what is it about them, you haven't been able to stop thinking about those damn eyes for months_  - and his smile widens.

"Well, I'd say that's just about  _purr_ -fect. What do you say, kitten?"

"Don't call me that," you say again, half-heartedly. Briskly you reach over to untie the ropes securing the man to the chair, coiling them to latch onto your belt again. The man is crying now, cradling his hand as he slumps over.

"Consider yourself lucky," Howler says to the man. "A souvenir of a pleasant visit from Howler and the Black Cat."

"The Black Cat and Howler," you correct.

"Semantics, darlin,'" his eyes twinkle. " _Semantics_."

You roll your eyes. "I'm gonna scram," you say, which is probably unnecessary.

"Want a lift?" Howler asks, quirking a brow in challenge.

His method will be quicker, and the man's shout had been loud. Probably best to take the quickest getaway. Not that it has anything to do with Howler's intoxicating presence…

"Sure," you say, casually.

Within seconds Howler is reattached to his rappelling equipment; a challenging look at you, and you're hooked to him before you can even comprehend having his hips pressed against yours, face to face. His breath is warm on your face, and as he perches on the jagged windowsill, you suck in night air mingled with his scent before you wrap your arms around his neck for extra support.

Howler turns to face the wall, your back to the brick, and without warning he starts to climb up the ropes, hand over hand. It's a brisk pace, and considering the weight - impressive. You don't say anything, but blink at his eyes, dark against the inky black sky and rimmed by his black mask, as he carries you upward.

"There's not a Mrs. Howler is there?" you ask softly. No need to be loud, with his scruffy chin and black mask about two inches from your face. He huffs a laugh. Barely out of breath, even though he's carrying your weight and his. How interesting.

"Why? You interested in the position?"

"Ha, ha," you sniff. "I only meant that any woman bold enough to be with  _you_ probably wouldn't be keen on me practically feeling you up."

"Well, feel me up all you want, kitten. There's no Mrs."

" _Don't_  call me that."

"What? You prefer puss?"

"I'd prefer if we didn't meet anymore in a professional capacity."

"Aw, I know you don't mean that."

There's a massive grin on his face, which makes it hard to feel at all in control of the situation - the dangling twenty stories above the streets at the mercy of a man who won't stop flirting with you and who you aren't entirely sure if you  _want_  to stop or not - doesn't really help.

Howler grips the concrete ledge of the roof, and with some grunts and scrambling around, you collapse on your back on the gravel floor, breathing in deeply as you stare at the sky. He unhooks you from his belt, and rolls off.

"Thank you," you say, shifting forward to stand, stretching out your back left and right.

"No problem, kitten. If you feel like you need to return the favor, you can tell me your name."

You cast Howler a glare - he only grins cheekily, tidying up his rappelling equipment. "Nice try," you say. "But no. I don't need you rattling off my personal information to some baddie who gets you tied up and tortures it out of you."

"That's not very 'all for one and one for all' of you."

"This isn't eighteenth century France,  _dog_."

"Well, one of these days you're gonna wish you had," he says wisely, eyes sparkling. "What if I found you hurt and all alone? Who would I call?"

"An ambulance."

"And afterwards? What if you were in a coma? Family members?"

You smirk, lifting your shoulders in a shrug. "Curiosity killed the cat."

His grin is wolfish. "You're the cat here, darlin'. Not me."

"Alright,  _Fido_. How about I throw a bone and you can leave me be for the rest of the night?"

"Now where's the fun in that?" His voice is very low, and very husky - ignoring the shivers that crawl up your spine, you merely lift a brow. Howler grins, and secures his equipment to his side.

Sirens reach your ears then, and you stride over to the edge of the roof to peer over - three police cars are parking by the front entrance of the apartment building. So the target had finally made his phone call. Too late. Howler walks over to stand beside you, and you shiver. Not from the chill breeze; not exactly.

"I guess that takes care of that," he says conversationally.

"Not yet. We gotta go. The police will probably do a sweep."

"Mmm, yeah."

Silence. Police officers jump out of their cars, entering the building with hubbub that can't be heard from this height.

"See you later, Howler," you say, and turn away. The back of the building is only a few feet away from the next apartments; the fire escape is an easy jump. As you're contemplating this, a gloved hand grasps your arm, and you pause.

"Hey." Howler's mouth is close to your ear - even through the hood you wear over your head, his breath is warm. "The night's still young, kitten. We can scope out some more trouble to get into - er, prevent."

"Three a.m. is young?" you ask, twisting back to meet his eyes. They're glittering, and you ask, forcing your voice to be level, "You don't have a day job, do you?"

He shrugs. "Just don't need a lot of sleep."

"Well, unfortunately I have a job  _and_  need sleep, so I'll be leaving you now."

His lips twitch. A tense moment, and then he releases your arm. You smile, and turn away to vault over the back of the building for the fire escape.


	2. Tighten Up

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, yawning a yawn that splits his face in two as he shuffles down the hallway to the briefing room. There's already chatter audible from the open door, and when he enters, it increases.

"Finally! You join us!" Sam says, voice loud over the others. Bucky scowls, and slides into an empty chair between Natasha and you. He notices your head bowed over your phone. If it concerns him, you'll tell him - so he turns his gaze to Stark at the front of the room.

"Ahem!" Tony claps his hands together, and the room quiets. "Thank you everyone," he begins. "For your excellent behavior at last night's dinner party. The mayor sent a thank you letter this morning to me, and he even remembered most of you by name."

"He forgot me, didn't he," Clint says, with a sigh. "They always do."

" _Ahem_ ," Tony says again, brows pinching slightly. "It doesn't matter. But an interesting event took place last night after the shindig…" He taps on his phone a few times, and on a projection on the wall behind him, a news anchor starts speaking in a solemn voice.

 _"At approximately 2:20 a.m. this morning, city officer Chuck Burnham was attacked within his Manhattan residence by a pair of vigilantes, known to the public as the Black Cat and Howler._ "

 _Howler and the Black Cat_ , Bucky mentally corrects her. The image on the screen changes from Burnham to a fuzzy photo of the Black Cat crouched on a rooftop - an old picture, and one that doesn't quite do her justice. Bucky grins to himself. Then the image changes again - this time to a frazzled looking Burnham, being interviewed outside his apartment building by a television crew.

"I was minding my own business, getting ready for bed," he's saying, a wild look in his eyes. "Then that  _woman_ was right behind me, in my bedroom! Didn't even hear her come in! And she threatened to slice me spleen to throat if I didn't cooperate."

There's a skeptical grunt behind Bucky. He glances behind him, studying the frowning contours of your face. You shrug.

"Black Cat has never killed anyone," you point out, which Bucky already knew. "Not really her style, I'd say. He's lying."

"'Course he is," Bucky replies easily. "Obviously did something to warrant a midnight visit from Black Cat. And Howler."

"Well, Black Cat, for sure," you counter. "Howler? Who knows what sort of motivations he has."

Bucky blinks, and then presses his lips together, swiveling in his chair back to the news.

"And it was her  _dog_ , that Howler - he broke my thumb! For no reason!" Burnham waves his hand in front of the camera indignantly, the blue brace looking really spectacular. Bucky snorts, but says nothing. Her  _dog_ , eh? Worse things to be. Much worse. He wonders, idly, if Black Cat has seen the news coverage.

The news caster is on again. _"The police received no reports of sightings of the vigilantes, but urge the public to remain calm and alert the police should Black Cat and Howler show themselves again._ "

"Not gonna happen," Natasha interrupts. "No one's gonna report those two. They've done too much to curry the favor of the people."

Bucky shifts in his seat, a little smugly. A compliment from Natasha, even if she didn't know she was giving it? A rare treat.

"So," Stark says at last, and the projection ends. "Burnham was at our supper last night. Anyone have any idea about this?"

Silence. Bucky glances around the table, but no one seems to have anything to offer - Steve shakes his head, Sam shrugs, Clint slumps his head in his hand, Natasha keeps a steady gaze, and you yawn.

"There's probably no connection between the dinner and Black Cat," Steve says at last, a little tiredly. "Come on, Tony. Don't you have eyes on them?"

"Not literally," Stark says, after a moment of chewing his lip. "They're just...on my watchlist. You know, like Spiderman, Daredevil. Haven't done anything to warrant investigation yet, though. Breaking a  _thumb_? There are unknown criminals out there doing worse. At least these two seem to have some scruples about it. The mayor emailed me this morning to inform me that there's going to be an investigation into Burnham's dealings."

"Good," Bucky says.

"Good," you mutter beside him.

"So, any witnesses would be great." Stark gazes beadily around the table, and Natasha frowns.

"Why would we have witnesses for an investigation into those two?" she asks.

Stark tips forward on the balls of his feet, hands shoved in his pockets. "Just a hunch," he says. Bucky, gnawing on his lips, looks away and says nothing.

"Well then, let's move on to the next order of business," Stark says briskly. "I believe that is regarding the charity gala next month for the children's hospital? Yes, yes it is. Take it away."

Bucky blinks, and you jolt in the seat beside him. Pushing your chair away from the table, you stand.

"I've been researching different platforms we can use for ticket giveaways and promotions," you start. "Speculation regarding the event has been particularly heated among…"

Bucky's mind grows hazy. So maybe he's a  _little_ tired - he'd stopped a convenience store theft on his way back to the Tower that morning ( _that_  hadn't been covered by the news - unfair), and by the time he'd cleaned up and hidden his supplies away, the sun had been on its ascent into the grey sky.

"That's a great idea!" Stark says, suddenly, jolting Bucky back to consciousness. "You're on my good list today, Sam. I'll have Pepper make the updates."

"I'll...make updates too," you say, and your voice is bemused. What had Bucky missed? He peers around the table, but there's no clue: Steve is resigned, Natasha is smirking, Sam is gloating, Clint is groaning. Stark is rubbing his hands together.

"Um," Bucky says. "What?"

"It's going to be a costume gala," Natasha informs him. Bucky frowns.

"It'll be a cinch," Steve assures him. "We're all costumes already, man."

"Uh uh!" Stark interrupts, wagging a finger. "New rule: you can't show up as yourself."

A chorus of protests breaks out, Bucky included. A  _costume_? He hasn't dressed up since Halloween, 1934. He shouldn't have nodded off. Could've prevented this…

"Is that all, Tony?" you ask next, pocketing your phone. "I have work to do."

"Sure, sure. Thanks for your help - "

You smile, nod, and turn to leave the room. Wistfully Bucky thinks of the world outside - it's likely going to be another two hours of briefing - and the soft whoosh of the door closing makes him sigh.

Several hours later, Bucky is sighing again. This time, it's in a darkened alley behind a movie theater, where he's let himself be tied up by a gang of idiots and shoved against a dumpster. They'd caught him off guard, frankly, and teaming up isn't very sportsmanlike. But they're idiots. And criminals, if his whiff of acrid, chemical drugs is correct.

"We caught the dog, didn't we, boys?" the leader taunts, and before Bucky can duck, a bony fist sails at his face, and connects with a crack. Bucky groans, working his jaw around to relieve the stiffness. The leader's face gets close, his breath absolutely revolting. "I know some fellas that would like to peel off your skin, inch by inch," he hisses, and another fist goes into Bucky's gut - he coughs.

"Let's get him out of here before the fuzz show," says another punk in the back.

Bucky wriggles his hands in the shoddy rope. The knots hold - for now. The leader licks his lips, eyes pallid and sick as he studies Bucky's face.

"After I take off that pussy mask," he says, and his fingers reach up - Bucky lolls his head to the side, baring his teeth -

There's a shine of golden eyes, just beyond the leader's shoulder. Bucky doesn't need to look to know what or whom the eyes belong to - just as the leader's fingertips are on the edge of Bucky's mask, a lithe, black figurine jumps from a nearby fire escape, feet connecting with the leader's back and sending him straight into Bucky.

Could've been less clumsy, Bucky muses as his head knocks against the dumpster.

Yelps of surprise - but they don't last long. Black Cat is fearsome, with a shimmering pair of silver knuckles and her excellent aim with groin kicks. The other three hooligans are on the ground in a matter of moments, and as Black Cat prowls towards them, head high and looking  _spectacular,_ they scramble to their feet and down the alley towards the street, not even sparing a backwards glance for their leader. Who is still half-lying on Bucky, and not moving.

Bucky squirms out of the ropes. Finally. Shaking them to the ground, he pushes the leader off, and hoists himself to his feet.

Black Cat turns. Her yellow eyes flicker up and down, regarding Bucky. "Doesn't the puppy know not to get cornered?" she asks.

"Funny," Bucky says, running a gloved hand through his hair. "I was surprised, that's all, kitten. If you hadn't showed, I would've been fine."

"He was about a half-second from taking off your mask," she points out.

"If you keep saving me like this, I'm gonna start think you only  _pretend_ not to like me," Bucky teases.

Her eyes roll. "I'm not pretending, Howlie."

"Whatever you say, kitten." Grinning, Bucky crouches to the ground, deciding on impulse that the ropes can be put to better use. The leader is still knocked out - impressive.

"I'm  _not_  your kitten," she says, sounding particularly perturbed. "It sounds demeaning. I'm more like...a jaguar."

"No, you're definitely a kitten," Bucky says, sending her a wink. "A sweet little thing that pretends to be all fierce to get a job done. There's not a bloodthirsty bone in your body, darlin.'"

"Wow, thanks for that psychological evaluation."

"And thank  _you_ for showing up." Bucky cinches the knot tight, and the leader moans, starting to come to. Time to scram. Bucky straightens, grinning at Black Cat. She's still standing there, hands on hips, clearly unimpressed as she regards him with an arched brow over her silky mask. "Without you," Bucky drawls softly. "It could've been a real...cat-astrophe."

Her groan echoes in the alley. Snickering to himself, Bucky strolls over to her, noting how she stiffens when he comes near. With a mock bow, he holds out his gloved right hand to her.

"May I escort you somewhere, kitten?"

She hesitates. "Well - I was going to stakeout by a newspaper stand a few streets over. There have been a lot of thefts late at night…"

"Purr-fect. I'll come with you."

"No need," she says quickly.

"I owe you one," Bucky insists. "Come on. We're better as a team."

More hesitating. Black Cat's eyes flicker to his outstretched hand, back up to his grinning face. Her lips part, tongue darting out to wet them. Bucky is staring, and he doesn't care. If a woman is this entrancing, to worm her way into his thoughts and dreams like this…

"Alright," she says, her voice grudging, which Bucky decides not to take personally. "Anyway - I have something for your lip."

"I hope it's  _your_ lips," Bucky teases. But he brings a hand to his face anyway, touching the sensitive skin - and wincing. There's blood.

"Down, boy," she snarks. "It's only an antibiotic."

Bucky can't help laughing, and after a moment - her lips begin to twitch - but before she can laugh, she jerks her head toward the fire escape. He follows.

Up the rusty metal, onto a rooftop, and three buildings over - silent as the shadows. When she finally perches on a ledge overlooking a corner intersection, Bucky is quick to take a seat at her left. She scoots away a little, and he chuckles to himself.

"Here," she says, and reach into a pouch at her belt. "That guy who hit you looked like he could give you tetanus or something." Black Cat holds out a tube of medicine, which Bucky accepts.

"Thanks, kitten."

She huffs, but doesn't argue.

The ointment makes Bucky's lip sting, but he doesn't care, smearing it all over his puffy skin. A moment later he returns it to her, and she puts it away. Her eyes are keenly fixed on a shack selling newspapers and cigarettes - Bucky forces his attention there, too.

Nothing suspicious. Yet.

The moon begins to crest across the sky, and the honks and screeches below become fewer, and further between. Black Cat doesn't say anything - when Bucky glances over at her, he sees her jaw clenched, her chin resting on her knee as she gazes down. She doesn't look back at him. His legs swing over the side of the brick building, bored.

"So," Bucky says casually, after about a half hour of stake out. "You said the other night you have a job. What do you do?"

She's silent for a moment - and then without moving her gaze, "I work in marketing. Is that vague enough?"

"Very vague," Bucky agrees. "But pretty tame for a wildcat."

Her lips twist into a smile - she's trying to hide it, and Bucky grins. "I thought you said I was a kitten," she says, off-handed.

"Well, sure. You're just not murderous enough to be a jaguar. A kitten can still be wild - and you're plenty fierce, darlin.'"

"What a compliment," she says dryly.

"I'm hoping to convince you to let me take you out sometime."

Finally - finally - Black Cat turns to face Bucky, her eyes all glittering gold as she regards him with amusement. "Take me out," she repeats. "Do you mean in the context of a date or an assassination?"

Bucky bursts into laughter. He can't help it, even though he knows he shouldn't be drawing attention to them. But she doesn't seem to mind, at least - when he finally quiets, she has a satisfied sort of smile on her face.

"Haven't decided yet?" she asks coyly.

"Nice try, kitten," Bucky teases. "One of these days you'll have to accept that I'm head over heels for you. Can't keep pretending we're enemies."

"You're not the least bit in love with me," she counters. "You have no idea who I am."

"I know enough. I know you're in marketing, that you roam the streets at night administering justice, that you are wonderful to talk to, and that you're hugely attracted to me but try to hide it."

"Sure, Howlie.  _Sure_." An eye roll - a fond one - and she turns her gaze back to the newstand. Still no suspicious activity, and a quick glance at his watch informs Bucky it's ticking past midnight. There's a five a.m. call in the morning - Stark has arranged a quick mission somewhere in South Africa, for some reason or another. He doesn't care - but he should probably leave.

He doesn't want to.

"Look - he's closing down," Black Cat says, interrupting Bucky's thoughts. He returns his attention to the newsstand - and indeed the owner is shutting off the lights. He can hear the disappointment in her voice, "Guess tonight was a bust."

"It happens to the best of us, kitten."

Lips curved downwards in a frown, she sighs, eyes flickering back to Bucky. "I'm sorry," she says, quite sincerely. "If I'd known - "

"Don't worry about it," Bucky cuts across. "I don't mind one bit. I'd rather sit up here with you than - than wandering around alone."

A brow quirks above her black mask. "Is that so?" she asks, briskly but quietly.

"Sure is." Bucky's eyes stay on her as she stands from her crouched position, mouth splitting in a yawn as she stretches her arms overhead. Mouth-watering, really.  _She_  should be illegal. "Can - can you manage alone for the next few nights?" he asks, a little raggedly. "I'm going to be out of town on - on business."

"Oh! So you  _do_  have a job," Black Cat teases as she hops down onto the gravel roof from the ledge. Bucky swivels around, never looking away. "What do  _you_  do during the day, Howler? Break hearts?"

"Only those that want to be broken, darlin.'"

"You're  _insufferably_ smug, you know."

"I've been told that before," Bucky muses, hopping down beside her with a grin. And - partly because he wants to, and partly because he loves to hear her splutter with embarrassment, he reaches over to tilt her chin up with a finger. A deep gaze into those golden eyes, pupiled like a cat's and unfortunately and undoubtedly false - Bucky grins. Her lips have parted, startled, as she stares back. Her heart beat has quickened. That's enormously gratifying.

"Good night, kitten," he murmurs.

Unable to form words - or too offended to - Black Cat reminds silent. Bucky leans in and kisses the tip of her nose beneath her mask, before slinking away into the shadows, leaving her a lonesome, dark figure in the night.


	3. Give Me Something

The sunny morning, several days since the last nighttime incident, finds you at your desk on the seventeenth floor of Avengers Tower. Sunlight spills on your desk, making it hard to see the computer screen - but the warmth is too nice to close the blinds. The babble of your coworkers behind you is lulling; sorting through pictures dull enough to make you yawn.

The nights have been busy the last week or so - without Howler, wherever he is, your nighttime activities have become a little more difficult. But how? You'd worked alone for so long before he'd ever shown up - clearly you've gotten used to having backup.

You snort to yourself. How'd he like to be called backup?

A voice rises above the rest as you start to dial a phone number into your cell - Sam Wilson. The Avengers must have returned from South Africa. He's cheerily greeting people left and right, but when he comes to your desk at the end, he stops. Glancing up, you return his smile, surprised to see Bucky's dark figure hovering behind, glancing around with bored interest.

"Good morning," Sam says. "Wanted to make sure the pics you put up of last night in Johannesburg are all flattering."

You blank, and then snort again. "You came all the way down here to make sure only flattering pictures of you hit the web?" you ask, bemused. "Really? You could've texted."

"Aw, come on. Maybe I just wanted to see my favorite girl." And with his toothy grin only broadening, Sam lifts a wrapped package, to balance on the lip of the cubicle. Your eyes flicker to it, and you quirk a brow.

"You're trying to bribe me," you declare. "Getting me coffee all the time, and now gifts? What do you want?"

"A good relationship with the person in charge of how I look to the world," Sam says smoothly, casting you a wink. Behind him, Bucky is rolling his eyes, and you hide a snicker.

"Well," you say, reaching out to slide the package towards you. "I accept your gift, but will make no promises."

"I think she's got you there, Wilson," Bucky comments in his deep voice. Sam shakes his head, but his eyes are sparkling as he wheedles,

"Can I at least see the shots from last night?"

"Sure." You turn your computer monitor to face Sam, and eagerly he leans down to scroll through the paparazzi shots. As soon as he's done, you need to call the distributors and shut them down, and buy off the digital copies.  _Then_  you can post them, all royalties go to Stark, and 'make sure' there will only be shots flattering of Sam. Lips twitching, you meet Bucky's eyes over Sam's shoulder. He's shaking his head in amusement, his eyes very blue in the bright sunlight.

"Is that why you're here, too?" you ask Bucky.

"Nah. Sam promised some sparring in the training rooms downstairs, and I figured I'd get bored waiting," Bucky says. "This way I can at least encourage him to hurry up."

You snicker.

"This is a good one," Sam decides. "And this one. Just those on Twitter, if you can."

"I'll see what I can do," you say diplomatically. "I can send you copies for yourself though, if you like."

But Sam is already distracted - as he straightens, he sees the mess of papers in your inbox, and reaches over to snatch up the top one, his eyes alight. "Oooo!" he gushes. "This is for the costume gala!  _Come as your favorite superhero; best costume will be crowned by Tony Stark himself_ ," Sam reads aloud. Then his eyes meet yours over the top of the proposed poster. "Does Tony know that?" he asks teasingly.

"Not yet," you admit. "Thought I'd spring it on him last minute. Then he can't protest." It's a joke, of course - Tony doesn't mind these sorts of things when it came to charity gigs. Which is good for publicity. Bucky snorts at your joke, and Sam grins.

"Who're you going as?" Sam asks next, letting the poster fall back in the tray.

You shrug. "Haven't decided."

"I was thinking I'd go as Howler," Sam says, and your eyes snap back up, startled. "But apparently at least four other guys are going as him. Popular dude."

"Go as Black Cat," you suggest with a smirk.

"Me- _ow_." Sam pretends to claw the air, and you laugh. Bucky is rolling his eyes again.

"What?" you snark at Bucky as his brow lifts. "You think Black Cat is overrated?"

"Not at all," he replies. "Quite the opposite, actually. Was thinking I might ask her to be my date."

You burst out a laugh. "Yeah, good luck with that. She's never made a public appearance before."

"Well," Bucky says, shrugging with a hint of arrogance. "Who can resist - " he pauses and blinks, as if rethinking what he was about to say. You lift a brow, and he stumbles to finish, " - um, the Winter Soldier?"

"Millions, I imagine."

Bucky doesn't appear offended at your comment - in fact, his eyes are twinkling, and your face suddenly burns. Clearing your throat, you straighten the papers in the tray.

"Well boys, I have some work to do making you two look good," you say. "A  _lot_  of work, if you catch my meaning. Feel free to bring by bribes any time."

"Sure thing." Sam winks again, waving in parting. Bucky's back turns - he pauses - and then glances back over his shoulder to shoot you a little smile. Then he's gone after Sam, and you blink. There had been something strange in Bucky's eyes...almost familiar. It's hard to recall, as if the memory is just out of reach at the distant corner of your mind. And your reaction? Twisting stomach, fluttering nerves? Unusual. But dismissable.

Maybe you'll remember later.

* * *

Wiping blood from your mouth with the back of your hand, you stare down in disgust at the whimpering man on the ground. He, at least, is worse off than you - several cuts on his face, a knee to the groin, and a few kicks to his knees and ankles had taken care of that. Even if he  _had_  punched you in the face.

"Next time I'm not gonna be so nice," you say, spitting a glob of pink-tinged spit to the ground.

The girl at the other side of the alley is still crying, great gulping sobs. With a last disdainful sniff at the man, you go over to her and offer a hand - she eyes you warily, and then takes it. She's shaking head to foot, and you pull her up.

"You have friends around?" you ask briskly.

She nods her head. "Um - yeah, back at the bar."

"I'll take you there."

The man is groaning behind you two, and is ignored as you keep a firm grip on the girl's arm as you step back into the streetlights from the mostly-abandoned alley. It doesn't seem right to be in the light - but fortunately the bar is only a few doors down. Leaving her in the company of sympathetic friends, you weave back around the brick building and into the shadows, letting out a sigh of relief.

Your mouth is still throbbing. As you hoist yourself up to sit on the metal grate steps, you lean back slightly, closing your eyes and savoring the sting of broken flesh. Slowly you pull out some medicine and tug off a glove, wincing as you touch the cut.

A  _whoosh_  in the dark - and your heart nearly jumps out of your chest as a figure appears before you, hanging upside down from the landing above.

"Boo," it says, and twists around to drop onto his feet a few steps below you. Giving Howler your best glare doesn't deter him - he merely grins, and sits himself down right next to you. You scoot away slightly.

"I should've known you'd show," you say dryly, capping the medicine lid back on.

"I saw you beating up that guy over there," Howler says, jerking his head in the direction of your previous encounter. "Would've intervened - but you seemed to have it under control."

"I did."

"Are you okay?"

You glance back up - the concern in Howler's voice is startling - and his impulsive reach over to touch your wound even more so. You flinch away, and his hand drops. His smile hardens, and then fades.

"I'm fine," you say, half-distracted as you wrap your arms around your knees. You'd been hoping for quiet - guess that won't be happening. Then again, the idea of sending him away doesn't improve your mood, either.

It's silent for a few moments. You peer over at Howler, but he's leaning one elbow against the steps, staring off into the distance like you. Half-hidden by his mask, his eyes are dark, and they aren't sparkling. It wrenches your stomach with disappointment, for some reason. Then he glances back at you, and adds, "It gets hard, doesn't it?"

"Hmm?" Being distracted by his lazy, languid sexiness? Yes - but you suspect that's not what he's referring to, and your cheeks warm.

"It's hard to see all the bad things in the world." Howler flicks off a shred of lint from his black pants. "It's tough to decide who you should bust up for being a jerk."

A hollow laugh escapes your throat. "It's not tough when I'm angry."

"Fair."

"But you're right. It's not easy to see the bad stuff." Your fingers curl around the metal grates, knuckles discolored from your scrape. You stare at the blossoming bruise, frowning - you hadn't noticed this wound, nor had you replaced the glove on your hand after applying ointment. Then Howler's gloved hand covers yours without warning, cutting off your view. Startled, you glance up to meet his eyes.

"Why do you do it?" he asks without preamble, his eyes glittering in the dim light.

"Hmm?"

"Why do you do it?" he asks again, then tilts his head slightly. "This."

"Oh." You ponder this for a moment, choosing your words. Then, "Well - the police don't notice everything. The Avengers don't notice everything. I'm just here to fill in some cracks."

"The Avengers," Howler says after a moment, and if you're not mistaken - there's surprise lacing his voice. His eyes have widened, and you quirk a brow.

"I mean, they try," you say mildly. "But they can only do so much."

"Sure, sure."

"Why do  _you_  do it?" you press him. If he's allowed to ask personal questions…

"Oh." Howler wrinkles his nose - in a way that draws every iota of your attention - before he answers. "I guess I'm kinda like you. The justice system is too slow and clogged up. I mean, I know it's is there for a reason - but sometimes operations under the radar keep things going more smoothly."

"That's not very American of you," you tease, and without thinking - well, only thinking of the unusually firm set of his mouth - you nudge his shoulder with yours, and immediately his grin is back in place.

"Hey," Howler protests, and leans over to poke you in the side, making you laugh. "Maybe I'm not American. Ever think of that?"

"I don't believe it for a minute, you fraud."

He groans, leaning his head back as his eyes close. "Fine.  _Fine_. You got me. I'm at your mercy, darlin.'"

Quieting your laughs - it's not far to the sidewalks, you lapse back into silence for a moment. The depressed squeeze of your heart has lessened with Howler. Absently you rest your chin in your hands, studying the brick of the wall as your thoughts wander.

"Speaking of the Avengers," Howler blurts. "Have you heard of that charity gala they're hosting for the children's hospital?"

Your mind goes completely blank - the charity gala? Howler knows about  _the charity_   _gala_? How? Has he figured out who you are? Did you give it away earlier by mentioning the Avengers? What does he  _know_? What has he  _figured out_?

"Um," you stall. "No?"

"Oh, well - I keep hearing rumors all over the place that everyone's keen to dress up as you and me."

"Really," you say faintly.

Howler's grin is feral. "I swear it."

"And what sort of places do you go to, to listen to people talk about you?" you ask brusquely, taking a strong offense. "Is that some sort of ego thing?"

"Aw, come on, kitten. You have such little faith in me."

"I barely  _know_ you at all."

"And I don't object to more intimacy, if you know what I mean - "

Mouth falling open in indignity, you dig an elbow into Howler's unprotected ribs - he grunts, wheezing with laughter as you fold your arms across your chest with a  _hmph!_

"Sorry, sorry - couldn't resist - "

You sniff, and say nothing.

"Look, the reason I brought it up," he adds, still grinning as you glare over at him. "I thought it might be fun to make an appearance together. Really spook some people - if there are so many people dressed up like us, we'll blend right in. Have some fun. Maybe make it a date."

"Nice try,  _dog_. I'm not going anywhere like this. There's a reason I keep it a secret. Now, stop  _hound_ ing me."

Howler snickers, and a blossom of good humor starts back in your chest.

"I mean it," you add severely, but can't help smiling - he's grinning, his eyes shining.

"Sure, kitten," he says, lowering his voice. Shivers break out across your skin, and quickly you shift away from him. Then without warning, he leans his head back and lets loose a soft but unmistakable mimicked howl of a wolf, sending it into the black of night.

"Oh my  _gosh_." You roll your eyes. "Give it a rest."

"Just tell me this, kitten," Howler licks his lips, though he's still smiling. "Why was the dog sad?"

"Because he wouldn't leave the cat alone," you invent, annoyed.

"He had a  _ruff_  week."

You groan loudly, and he cackles madly. Smugly.

"Aww," he says, tone beseeching. "It was funny, and you know it."

"I'm not giving you a pity laugh for that."

"Come on, just one."

"Dream on, Howlie!"

"I just wanna see you smile, kitten," Howler says, more gently now. "You looked so cut up earlier. I don't wanna leave you until you're feeling better."

"How very gallant," you force yourself to snark, despite the heat in your cheeks. He scoots closer, still on his elbow as he gazes up at you.

"Just one smile."

Gnawing your lip, you let yourself drown in his blue eyes - just a little bit - before sighing. "I'm guessing you're not gonna leave me alone until I smile?" you ask, and he grins, nodding. "Fine." Licking your lips, you offer a forced smile. Howler stares for a moment, and then snorts. His face is near enough that you can feel his warm breath on your arm, even through your shirt.

"I'll let it slide this time," he says, wagging a finger. "Listen, kitten - I mean it when I say this is a tough job. Don't push yourself too far, okay?"

A retort is on the tip of your tongue -  _that's none of your business, dog_  - but you bite it. There's no condescension in his tone or eyes. Just sincerity. And kindness. Your heart does a strange little pattering beat, and you swallow.

"Okay," you say at last.

"Good girl. If you ever need me, I'll be there, okay?"

"If you say so."

"Let's exchange phone numbers, at least," he suggests. "Then if you're ever in a situation and you need help - I'll be there."

Howler has a point. No one else knows what you do with your nights - if something worse than usual were to happen, you'd be totally screwed. Reluctantly you pull your phone out of your pocket.

"Tell me your number, then."

He does, and you send a quick text.

"That's from me," you inform his grinning face. "Now, I'm going to go home. A long route, see if I can put out any more fires. If you follow me, I'm gonna kick you so hard your grandchildren will feel it."

Howler snickers. "Duly noted. Be safe out there, kitten."

Standing, you hesitate for a moment as you tug your glove back on. Then, glancing down for a final look into his eyes - and enjoying every second - you smile.

"You too, Howlie."

He dips his head in a nod, and you hop over the railing to the ground.


	4. Future Starts Slow

A soft  _ping_  from your phone breaks through Stark's droll talking - the meeting is supposed to be regarding the last-minute details of the charity gala this weekend, but he's gotten sidetracked reminiscing about some party or another ten years ago. He's not looking your way, so you slide your phone over in front of you.

It's from H. Howler - you hadn't dared put his name in your phone.

And why is your heart thumping so fast all of a sudden?

Everyone else in the room is as distracted as you - Steve is yawning, Sam and Bucky are both gazing down at their phones in their laps, Natasha is actually reading a book she'd brought - and Clint is dead asleep, chin propped in his hand. Pepper is rubbing her temples, likely waiting for a good moment to interrupt Tony in a non-offensive way, and the remaining heads of department required for this 'briefing' are the only ones pretending to be attentive. The event coordinator. The head of security. The head of catering. They haven't worked for Stark as long as others.

Gnawing your lip, you give into temptation - sliding your phone screen, a text pops up.

_Hey, kitten. Going for a prowl tonight?_

Wow, he really won't give it a rest. Which doesn't really explain why you're biting back a smile, why your fingers are trembling a little bit as you reply.

_Depends. Are you going to be kenneled?_

You send it, and force your attention back to Tony.

"In retrospect, bursting the bartender out of the cake wasn't the greatest idea, but…"

A snort from Bucky across the table, draws your attention - but he's still staring at his phone. Sam glances over at him too, baffled, and gives a shrug. Suppressing a yawn, you straighten your pen beside your notebook.

Your phone  _pings_  again.

_Only if you're the one to tie me up, kitten ;)_

Oh, my gosh. Is it getting hot in the boardroom, or what? You shift in your seat, drawing in a deep breath as you type back a response.

_Nice try, dog. You're gonna have to do better than that._

A few more agonizing moments -  _boring_  moments as Tony drones on - before Howler texts back.

_Do a patrol with me tonight and I'll try as hard as you like. Just name the time and place, kitten…_

Yep, it's definitely hot in here. Pressing your hands to your warm face, you contemplate what to say as Steve leans over to murmur something to Sam, and then Sam rolls his eyes and turns to whisper to Bucky. Bucky lifts his head, tilts forward, and sticks his tongue out at Steve.

Natasha turns a page of her book. The head of catering clicks her pen.

Another deep breath, your thumb hovering over the send button.

_Alright. The docks, 10 p.m._

The response is lightning-fast:  _I thought cats were afraid of the water._

 _I'm not a_ literal  _cat, dummy._

 _Ooo, that hurt._ With an emoji of a sad face. You roll your eyes, giggling a little to yourself.

"I'm sorry, am I boring you?" Tony's sharp voice breaks through your haze. Sitting straight, you glance up to see his pinched brows, his scowl as he glares around the table. His eyes land on Steve, Sam, and Bucky - and he waits impatiently.

"Tony," Pepper interrupts wearily. "Can we get back to - "

"In a minute. I wanna know what these hooligans are so amused about." Tony jerks his head towards the three - Steve shifts awkwardly, Bucky's expression freezes, and Sam grins broadly.

"Tin Man's just setting up a date for tonight," Sam informs the room loudly. "We're just so surprised. The moment has to be commemorated."

You can't help joining in the laughter that ripples through the room at poor Bucky's expense. Clint snorts, rubbing his eyes as he wakes up, and even Natasha lowers her book to peer across the table. Bucky is scowling as he glares at Sam, his nose scrunching like a child who's sniffed something but his brain hasn't caught up – or he's trying to sneeze, but the sneeze hasn't come. Either way, the nose crinkle is cute. Almost a little...endearing.

"Really?" Natasha asks curiously. "With who?"

"He won't tell us. Can you believe that?" Sam sends red-faced Bucky a glare - you shake yourself, face suddenly burning. Cute, what?

"A date," Tony repeats. "A  _date._  While we're all gathered around  _here_ \- " he waves his hand around, "Sacrificing our  _time_ to put together this gala, and Barnes is setting up a  _date_."

"Hey," Bucky snaps back. "You're the one that went off topic with that dumb story."

" _Dumb_?"

"Tony!" Pepper's voice rises above the burgeoning argument. "Please. Many of us have other things we need to do today. Let's wrap this up, yeah?"

Jaw twitching, Tony casts Bucky one final, disgusted look - which Bucky returns unrepentantly - and you cover your mouth to hide a snicker as awkward silence fills the room.

"Fine," Stark allows, and shoving his hands in his pants pocket, starts pacing at the front of the room again. "Fine. Where were we?"

Pepper sighs. "Numbers for security - "

"Standard issue for the venue," Stark orders.

"RSVP numbers - "

"346," replies the event coordinator.

"Entries for the giveaway - "

"Twenty-eight thousand, give or take," you reply. This causes some stir - Sam nods, impressed, as everyone else glances at you.

"Some ideas for more promotions would be ideal," Pepper finishes, with a nod towards you. Smiling as Stark's attention is on you, you swallow quickly before speaking.

"Some preparatory photos of the Avengers would do nicely," you say. "We don't have to wait for Saturday night to take them and upload them - let's get things stirring now."

"What's a preparatory photo?" Steve asks.

"A shower pic," Sam offers.

"No," you say quickly, casting him a glare. "But, I mean - you've got the right idea. Picking out a costume. Haircut. Taste-testing some fancy food. That sort of thing."

"Excellent idea," Tony agrees.

"I bought my costume last night," Natasha says. "I can take some pics and send them to you to upload, if you like."

"That would be great - "

"Who're you going as?" Sam asks, brow pinching.

Natasha smiles smugly. "Black Cat."

A chorus of  _ooo_ 's breaks out.

"It's a little hard to improvise, considering there's no good photo of her," Nat adds. "But it'll be recognizable, I think."

"Experimental tech downstairs has those cat-eye contacts for night vision," Stark suggests. "I know she has those."

"She does?" Steve asks. "How do you know?"

"Black Cat is loaded with discarded Stark Tech," Tony says indifferently. "I notice my own work, thanks. And it's gratifying to know she puts it to good use."

Oh, how you wish the floor could swallow you whole. It's difficult to keep a cool head during this exchange - it's so  _close_  that you can feel the heat of an embarrassing reveal already starting to creep up your neck. But you haven't been indicated. You're safe. You  _have_ to be. There's no way Tony would know -

"Maybe you just need a fresh pair of eyes to help with your costume," Tony says to Natasha suddenly, and then - his eyes are on you, and he's grinning. "What do you think?"

You blank. "Um - sure, a fresh pair of eyes helps."

"I'm glad you agree. I'd like you to help Natasha. You have a great eye for that sort of thing."

Your face is  _very_  hot. Is everyone staring at you? Probably. Shoot….

"Okay," you manage to say.

"Excellent. Anything else on the agenda, Peps?"

"Nope, that's all," Pepper says, her voice laced with relief. "We can go now."

It's a race to the door.

The sun has long set by the time you touch base with Natasha - your workday is finally over, and she has her costume ready for approval - whatever that means. As you flop down on her bed with a sigh, eyeing the laid out clothes with askance, she merely hovers, and smiles expectantly.

"It looks great, Nat," you say, rubbing your aching eyes. "I don't know why Tony wanted me here."

"Second opinion."

"Fine. Let's just get a picture I can post for promo so I can go home."

And to the docks. With weariness already settling in your limbs, it's not looking good. You'd been lucky to even snag a sub from a leftover tray in the break room, and you're yawning as Natasha considers the clothes with a frown.

"Here," she says at last, grabbing the gloves to tug on over her hands. "Let's do simple."

"Okay." You pull out your phone as Natasha strikes a pose - a little baring of her teeth, and it's done. You sigh, and she snaps out of it. "Thanks," you say. "I'll get this done and whip up some excitement."

"Do you even think this looks like what Black Cat wears?" she asks next, tossing the gloves down.

"Sure," you say, noncommitted.

"Hmm. Who are you going as?"

Hesitating, you cross your ankles as you think. "Well - I'm staff. I don't need to dress up….right?"

"Wrong!" Nat laughs. "Come on; you know Stark won't fly for that."

"I figured. Was thinking I'd borrow a Ms. Marvel costume from my cousin."

"Oh? You'll stand out, that's for sure," Natasha chuckles, holding up the black shirt to admire. "Everyone's going for the vigilantes, apparently. Apparently someone even tapped Daredevil to make an appearance."

"Is that so."

"Mmhmm. What color contacts do you think Black Cat has?"

"Green," you say promptly. Nat lifts a brow at you, throwing the shirt back down onto the bed to pick up the leather pants. Does she know you're lying?

"You should go as Howler," Natasha decides. "We'd be a great team, you and I."

Unable to stop it - a loud snort comes out, and you shake your head. "Please. I'm not dressing up like a dog."

"He doesn't  _dress_  like a dog," Natasha says patiently. "It's just….all black and a mask. Don't you have that sort of stuff lying around already?"

 _Yes_. "Not a mask," you lie again. "But I could probably pick one up for a buck somewhere."

"Do it!" Natasha urges with a winning smile. "If nothing else, you'll irk Sam. He's going as Howler too."

"I heard." You stifle another yawn, and Natasha throws the pants at you.

"Go home," she says. "We'll finish talking about this tomorrow."

You agree in a heartbeat.

With a little coffee in your system, finding your way to the docks in the dark isn't so bad. The heady anticipation of seeing Howler keeps your heart rate up, too - what new things is he going to find to say to you tonight?

All is silent - slipping past the wharf's night guards is no problem, and you pause in the shadows of a shipping crate, heart in your throat. Every hair on your body seems to be standing on end. Peering around the corner towards a massive open space lit by street lights, you gnaw on your bottom lip.

Where is he?

 _He's not why you're here_ , you remind yourself sternly.  _It's the job...it's not Howler..._

No sign of drug dealers or buyers, but no sign of Howler either.

A hand lands heavily on your shoulder, and you twist around with a grunt, under the arm and taking a stance against -

Howler.

"You absolute beast!" you hiss, straightening and trying to appear as if he hasn't just give you an awful fright. "Bet you thought that was funny."

His eyes are sparkling, dimples deep in his scruffy cheeks. "It was a little funny," he admits, crossing his arms as he regards you up and down. "Didn't mean to scare you too much, kitten."

" _Sure_."

"So, what're we here for? A kidnapping? Mugging? Or did you just want to gaze into my eyes underneath the romantic light of…" Howler glances up - no moon - but his gaze rests on the street lamps. He grins. "Industrial lights," he suggests, grinning that wicked grin that makes your palms break out in a sweat beneath your gloves.

"Well, aren't you funny tonight," you snark. "I heard a rumor of a drug drop, that's all."

"Excellent. I love drugs."

You arch a brow.

"...Drops," Howler adds hastily. "How'd you hear about it, anyway?"

"In line at a coffee shop."

He lets out a low whistle. "That's not a very secret place, is it?"

"Definitely not."

"Well, if they'd known the cool Black Cat was listening in…" Howler wiggles an eyebrow.

"There's reason I don't tell anyone who I am," you say firmly. "You, most of all."

"Now wait just a minute, kitten - "

But his words are drowned out by the chugging of a car - more than one car, if your instincts are correct. Ignoring Howler as he snaps his mouth shut, you put your back to the shipping crate and peer back out to the open lot.

Two cars. Old cars. The engines stop, and people begin clamoring out - you start to count them under your breath - Howler is right up against you from behind, your mind blanks, and you have to start counting again from the beginning. The people converge in some sort of circle, all eyeing each other warily.

"There's  _five_ ," you whisper in disbelief. "That sure is a lot for some drugs."

"You're telling me," Howler murmurs into your ear, causing a streak of goosebumps to spread across your skin. "And they're all armed."

You curse under your breath. He's right, of course - and you don't deal with people who have guns. This is serious.

"Don't fret, little kitten," he says next, and you turn to frown at him, but he's grinning as he rolls his shoulders in preparation. "I'll take care of this for you."

"You idiot - they have  _guns_  - "

But it's too late - Howler has already left the shadows, creeping ahead for the ring of light cast by the street lights. His dark outfit makes him look like a shadow himself, and as the first person notices his approach your heart catches in your throat. Biting your lip, you keep your back pressed to the crate as you watch, mesmerized.

Shouted questions, but Howler doesn't respond. He continues stalking forward, and when he's about fifteen feet from the circle, guns start appearing.

Your palms are sweating.

In a flurry of motion, before your mouth can even fall open in surprise - Howler has disarmed the first two men coming at him. Guns clatter to the ground, and with a pair of sharp, well-aimed jabs, the two men fall to the ground as well, moaning.

How…?

The other seven are hesitant to engage - but Howler doesn't give them much time to be afraid. One gun, pointed at him, goes off with a  _bang!_  - but it...doesn't hit him. He  _dodges_  it? Is that even possible? Was it just really bad aim from ten feet away?

As you consider this, the remaining people are kicked and punched until they're all huddled in heaps. Some move. Some don't. Then Howler, still upright and not even  _looking_  like it was a strain, picks up one of the guns. In a sleek motion, the bullets are falling to the ground, and he tosses the gun back down.

The same with the others.

Forgetting to keep your face in the shadows, you're gaping as Howler finishes his work and starts to stride back to you, his grin visible even from the distance. Distantly, a police siren sounds.

"How?" you demand, when he's near enough to hear. He only chortles.

"I saw the night guard making a phone call," Howler says, tucking some fallen hair back behind his ear. "Judging by the sirens, I think our friends are about to get picked up. Let's make ourselves scarce, yeah?"

"Well, yeah, but - "

The sirens are getting closer, and with a quick glance over his shoulder Howler reaches for your limp hand, his firm fingers closing over it. Before you can do more than yelp in surprise, he has set off, half-dragging, half-leading you behind him away from the scene, and into the darkness.

Around more crates. Behind trucks. The sirens grow distant again, and you wheeze for breath. He's merciless. You try to glare at the bun of dark hair at the nape of his neck, holding his mask in place - but it intrigues you too much. Something catches your eye on the side of one of the crates, and you tug your arm back, stopping him in surprise.

"What?" Howler asks. He's not even out of breath, but that's not your foremost worry - stepping cautiously forward, eyes on the crate as your heart pounds -

It's...you.

Well, it's meant to be, at least. An artistic rendition of that fuzzy picture of you that always pops up on the news - Black Cat crouching on top of a brick building, overlooking an expanse of bright lights. But she's much cooler than you; she has actual cat ears, her features lithe and elegant beneath the mask, and even her  _pose_  just leaks awesomeness. Beneath the rendition, the words:  _Claws Out._

"Did you do that?" Howler's teasing remark comes from beside you. Tearing your eyes away from the graffiti, you give him a very cross glare as he grins. "It's nice," he adds. "You should get cat ears, for sure. They would be  _very_  cute."

"I don't dress this way to turn you on," you retort.

"No, that's just a bonus." His eyes are twinkling as your face turns hot, and you lift your chin.

" _Down_ , boy."

"Can we keep scramming?" Howler jerks his head away from the sirens.

You nod, but this time you don't let him take your hand. Keeping pace behind him in the dark of night, winding through the docks, your hand does feel strangely empty this time…

At the edge of the property is a chain link fence. Probably electrified - stopping short and gasping for breath, you swear in a mutter as you consider this new problem. Can't leave through the entrance with the guards. Can't go near the police again. Can't wait 'til morning.

"Easy," Howler says, resting his hands on his hips as he squints at the fence. Then he casts a sidelong glance at you. "Do you trust me, kitten?"

"To beat up bad guys? Sure. With my life? No."

He chuckles. "Someone's got their tail in a twist."

"Let me guess - me."

"Come on. Hop up." And he crouches beside you, patting his shoulders. You stare. After an awkward moment, Howler adds patiently, "Climb on my shoulders and you can jump the fence, kitten."

"Then how do  _you_  get across?"

"I'll just...jump really high."

You shake your head, though he can't see. If he wants to be an idiot, he's welcome to. Swinging a leg up, you perch one knee over his shoulder, and then the other. Howler stands abruptly, and you clench onto his head as a yelp strangles in your throat. But his hands are tight around your ankles, holding you steady. Irritated, you push away those intrusive thoughts about how strong and safe he feels, holding onto you...

"I got you," he says firmly, keeping balance as he steps as close to the fence as he dares. As if in warning, a bright blue spark shudders through one of the wires. You shudder. "Come on," Howler urges again. "Put your feet on my shoulders. I won't let you fall."

Maybe it's that his voice isn't cocky for once - maybe it's that you really just want to get out of there. Either way, you brace yourself with a deep breath, and do as he says. His hair gets rumpled as you hold yourself up with one hand on his scalp, and his hands stay firm on your feet as you wobble, straightening to your full height.

Howler is  _tall_.

"Jump," he says.

"I'm gonna hurt you."

"No, you won't, kitten. Sweet of you to care, though."

"Fine." Another deep breath, you crouch slightly - and  _jump_. Are those Howler's hands on the bottom of your boots, propelling you up?

You clear the fence. Twisting your body mid-air, you fall onto the concrete ground below at a roll, the wind knocked out of you. Ragged breaths, in and out. Shifting, you moan a little - this is gonna bruise - but nothing's broken. After a moment you hoist yourself to your knees, then to your feet.

"Ouch," you report through the fence, where Howler is watching you.

"Nice jump," he says with a crooked grin. "My turn."

He was  _serious?_  "No," you say quickly, but he's already backing up to take it at a run. "Don't, you idiot - "

Too late. A sprint, an audible grunt, and Howler  _sails_  over the fence, landing like you on his side. He stops just a few feet from you, mask still in place though his hair is falling out of its bun. Your mouth falls open, but you don't notice.

"Ouch," he says cheekily, climbing to his feet and stretching out his back. He sends you a wink, and you snap your lips shut.

"Who are you, Captain America?" you snipe. "What is  _wrong_  with you?"

"Erm - " The question clearly startles him. His blinks behind his mask are uncertain, for once.

"Well, I mean, obviously you're not Captain America," you roll your eyes. "He's blond, and that's no wig."

"Oh, right." Howler pats down his hair, now offering a wry grin. "If it was a wig, you would've pulled it off tonight. You're a bit rough sometimes, aren't you kitten?"

" _Don't_ test me, dog."

"Can I walk you home at least?"

"I could walk  _you_ home," you retort. "If you brought your leash."

His bright blue eyes widen.

"But I can see you're missing a collar," you finish. "Good  _night,_  Howler." Then, hesitating as he continues to regard you, you add, "Thank you. For - for everything, I guess. I didn't do anything tonight."

"Aw, that's all right, kitten," he winks. "You're the one that knew about the trouble. You can be the brains, I can be the brawn."

"Yeah, whatever steroids you've been doping on."

Howler grins. "Only my need to show my kitten that she gives me wings."

"Don't make me barf." A quirked brow, and you turn on your heel to start towards back towards the city. His laughter follows behind you - but he does not.

It gives you time to calm your racing heart, and more to regret the loss of his companionship. But when you finally look back at the distant docks, there are only shadows staring back.


	5. Sit Next to Me

Your feet dangle high above the street, flashing with bright lights and echoing with the typical babble. But you don't hear it - too busy laughing with Howler as he clutches his stomach beside you, wheezing.

"I'll never forget that look on his face when you showed up," Howler chortles to your left. "Man, I wish I'd had a camera! It was priceless!"

"I wish I could've seen it," you say mournfully, despite smiling so wide that your cheeks ache. "I was just too busy saving your butt."

"Well, my butt thanks you."

You cast him a good-natured glare, and Howler, his face rather too close to you and his eyes glittering too brightly, nudges his shoulder into yours. You scoff.

"Should I expect a thank you note?" you ask, arching a brow.

"Er - " His face freezes comically, but you burst back into laughter a second later, and Howler grins again.

"I don't mean it," you hurry to clarify. "Verbal thanks will suffice."

"Good to know."

Wincing, you roll your aching ankle. It had sprained in your hurry to leave the scene after things had been tidied. The fault is entirely yours - which your pride doesn't really appreciate. At least Howler had been kind enough to help you to the rooftop, to rest your ankle in peace while the police below pick up the target for the night - a regular thief who had been frequenting local convenience stores.

"Feeling alright?" Howler asks, casting you a look.

"Fine," you say absently. "Hey, I have other plans for tomorrow night, so try not to get into any more scrapes you can't get out of by yourself, yeah?"

"I don't do that on  _purpose_ ," he laughs. "But you don't have to worry about me, kitten. I'm busy tomorrow night, too."

"Hot date?" you tease.

"Only if you agree to come with me."

"Nice try."

"It was worth a shot, kitten. You always are."

Rolling your eyes fondly, you peer back at the city lights - ahead, tall buildings twinkle. Below, the police sirens have finally been turned off. So the target is on his way to jail. Good. You sigh, and let the contentment steal through you.

"You shouldn't think that, you know," you say at last.

"What?" Howler's head tilts towards you. "That you're worth a shot?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" he challenges, brows lifted.

"Because you don't have a chance with me," you tell him, mostly truthfully - well, it's true that a little attraction isn't a good enough reason to let him know who you are, to take a step forward in a perfectly good professional relationship, ladled with secrets.

"Is that so?" Howler's voice is light - almost nonchalant. Startled, you turn back to study his expression. Lips twisted wryly, his eyes sparkling.

"Yes," you say firmly.

"Are you...one hundred percent sure of that, kitten?" he murmurs. A shiver crawls up your spine at his tone, and you swallow, mesmerized to the spot. "Or...ninety-eight percent sure? Eighty? Sixty? Fifty-one?"

"Um...one hundred and ten," you lie, hoarse and unsure.

Still grinning, Howler's fingers curl over yours, resting on the ledge. You don't stop him - you  _can't_  - and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. You're staring.

"You  _sure_ , kitten?" His voice is a low purr, his face so close to yours that you can feel his warm breath against your lips. You try to force out words, really you do - but they're lodged somewhere between your brain and your mouth, completely stalled and stupid as you let yourself drown in his blue eyes.

The moment is agonizing, waiting - the anticipation, the churning in your stomach, the clammy feeling of your palms beneath your gloves, the itch to grab him and kiss him senseless - unwise. You and he are still on the edge of a rooftop.

His mouth finally descends on yours, a little whimper sticks in your throat. His empty hand is tracing your jaw, cupping your face as he urges your lips open for a deeper taste, his dry, heated skin moulding to yours. Your eyes close, shutting out the view of his mask as he tilts your head back.

Every nerve in your body is swirling with white-hot fire. Limbs quivering, stomach fluttering with a positive kaleidoscope of butterflies; mind gloriously, deliciously blank - there's only Howler here, not a several-hundred-foot drop. Only his lips, and yours, and the electricity sparking between them.

"My pretty kitten," he murmurs, some time later when he's pulled away to trail hot kisses down your jawline. "My beautiful wildcat."

"You know," you force out, voice thick. "It's a bad idea to fall in love with someone who hides behind a mask."

"You saying that to me, or to you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not in the slightest." Howler pulls away, his grin smug as he traces your chin with the tip of his thumb. "And it sure doesn't explain how I feel about you."

Your eyes narrow. "You just don't have a sense of self-preservation."

"I've been told that before," he says with a chuckle. "It's a silly rule, anyway. What about Iron Man?"

You blink. "What...about Iron Man?" you repeat slowly.

Howler shrugs. "Lots of people are head over heels for masked heroes."

"Tony Stark is incredibly well-known," you point out. " _You_  could be anybody. A criminal. A loser. A - "

"A really great guy you could fall in love with," he suggests, a wicked glint in his eye.

"It's a slim chance," you say, tugging your hand out from beneath his. "But if you do this sort of thing?" you wave your hand to the chaos below. "Chances are - no."

"You're a tease, little kitten," Howler says, and he reaches up to push some stray hair back into your hood. The air is thick, and the tips of his gloved fingers brush the skin of your cheek. You swallow convulsively, and he grins. "You haven't given my bravery enough credit," he teases. "I'm half-ready to propose marriage, and I don't even know if your eyes are really gold."

"They're not," you tell him as your cheeks turn hot. "And I assure you, I will be turning down any proposal from  _you_."

"Aww, kitten…" His smile is heartrending, utterly distracting as his fingers continue on your cheek, until the slightest  _tug_  on your mask has you jerk away.

"Down, boy!" you snap, and shift away on the ledge so that he's no longer touching you. It's a dangerous game, this…

"Alright, alright…" With a weary sigh, Howler leans back on his hands, and you watch him from the corner of your eye as he gazes out at the city. You can't see his eyes, regrettably. Then he sighs again, this time briskly. "I should go," he says, and swings his legs over to the safety of the rooftop. "Are you going to be safe up here alone, kitten?"

"Of course," you say.

"And your ankle?"

"Feeling better already."

"Then good night. Sweet dreams, when they come to you."

You turn your head, eager for the smile he offers - and it doesn't disappoint. Irresistible, suave, charming and handsome - you smile back without thinking, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. He chuckles, and disappears into the shadows.

It's lonely, after that. You linger a few moments longer, with much to contemplate.

Like being perched on that ledge, your heart is in very great, immediate danger. Ahead - a freefall, the unknown, a wonderful thrill. Behind? Safety, surety, and more shadows. The  _thump-thump, thump-thump_  leftover from Howler's flirtations, from his admiration makes you feel warm all over, despite the chill night air sweeping up from below.

Is it worth the fall?

* * *

Bucky's grin hurts his face. With a backpack containing his gear slung over his shoulder, he struts off the elevator and towards his rooms at Avengers Tower. It's long past midnight, but everyone is still awake, strewn across couches in the common area.

Someone calls his name - he waves and continues on, not even caring if they think it's strange that he's smiling. Coming back so late? Normal, for him, which gives him more flexibility with his nighttime wanderings. But the smile? A dead giveaway that something happened.

The last thing Bucky needs to do is let Sam find out he's been kissing Black Cat.

Backpack put away. A yawn. Bucky trudges back to the common room, maybe a little unsettled, maybe a little bored - maybe looking for something to distract him.

Distraction is looking likely. Tony is sitting on the ground, crouched over the coffee table as he fiddles with some...project or another. There's protective eyewear and a soldering iron involved, so it's probably gotta be good. Bucky sinks into an armchair, lacing his fingers behind his head as he watches.

"I hate flowers at events like that," Natasha is saying to Steve, who's nodding as he listens. "It's so much messier when you have to knock someone out with a vase. Ruins my outfit every time."

"I used to be allergic to pretty much every flower," Steve replies. "Sometimes I still flinch when I see a bouquet."

"Ow!" Tony sticks a finger in his mouth, scowling at his project. Whatever it is. Curiously, Bucky opens his mouth and asks,

"What're you making, Stark?"

"Taser claws," is the immediate, and abrupt response. Bucky blinks - exchanges a glance with Sam, and takes the bait.

"Why?" Bucky asks next.

"Well." Face close to the metal as smoke curls up to the ceiling, Tony frowns. "They're for Black Cat to find."

" _What_?"

"If she's digging around my castoffs for materials, I'd prefer she gets something good," Tony explains. "I like good press. And right now, Black Cat is the most popular hero on the market."

"How do you even know she takes your stuff?" Bucky presses.

Tony pushes up the safety goggles, peering over at Bucky. "Contacts that enable the wearer to see in the dark? I have the sole patent for that. Had to throw away about three thousand pairs because some lunatics down in experiments made them  _cat eye_  pupils for kicks and giggles. There's nowhere else she could've gotten them."

"And Tony just lets anyone waltz into the dumpster and take what they like," Natasha says cheekily, earning her a glare.

"You think I didn't have Jarvis check the footage?" Tony snarks back. "Didn't see a single person not in the system around the dumpsters. I hate to spoil the surprise, but Black Cat is an employee here."

Bucky's mouth falls open.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam says, holding out a hand to pause the general outcry of surprise. "You're saying -  _Black Cat is here_?"

"Not at the moment, probably," Tony scratches his cheek, smearing some black grease across his skin. "Unless Natasha has something she'd like to share."

No way. Bucky would know if he'd been kissing Natasha. Besides, it's all wrong - her look, her manner - everything. Still, Natasha grins for a moment before shaking her head no.

"Didn't think so," Tony says conversationally.

"Can we watch the footage? Maybe we can figure out who it is," Steve suggests.

"No," Tony says. "Let her keep her secret. Although if she wanted to join the team...I probably wouldn't refuse."

Black Cat? An Avenger? Bucky's heart is beating a little out of control, but then his brain catches up, and he frowns. How could he tell her he's both Howler  _and_ the Winter Soldier? Would she be upset? Would she trust him? Would she call him a liar?

Bucky blinks, and Tony pulls his goggles back over his eyes.

If she was on the team, he'd know who she is. Her real name. Spend time together.

His heart soars, and his lips curl in a dopey smile.

Later, when everyone has finally slumped off to bed and Bucky is alone in his bedroom, he pulls out a bag from beneath his bed to spread out the contents on the duvet. Black leather pants, black turtleneck, a black leather vest with a hood, and gloves. And a mask.

It all makes him grin wryly to himself - what would she say, if she knew he was dressing up as her for a costume party?

Maybe Bucky will find out, someday.


	6. You're Somebody Else

Frowning, you twist 'round, staring at your costume in the mirror. It's reasonably accurate to what Howler wears - but not so much that someone will suspect you've had many intimate studies of his gear. Without any clear photos of him floating around, who will know?

No one, that's who.

Snatching up the black mask, you secure it over your face and behind your best attempt at mocking Howler's signature hair bun. It'll do.

"You done in there?" Natasha's voice sounds through the bathroom door, and with a final once over, a few nerves, and a sigh, you wrench open the door and walk out. She's all ready, dressed in as much black as you with novelty cat ears added for effect, and utterly bored as she gazes down at her phone.

"I'm ready," you say.

She glances up. "Good. We're almost late."

You wince, shifting your weight as you roll your ankle slightly - it still twinges a bit; you'd spent most of the day recuperating in the hope you wouldn't be limping tonight. Natasha lifts a brow, and you wet your lips.

"Missed a stair going up," you lie. "Twisted."

"Ouch. You'll have to limit the dancing tonight."

"Not much of a sacrifice."

"Aw, come on," Nat teases lightly, and together you two stroll out of her room, to make for the elevators. "It's for charity. Think of the  _children_."

"Fine. I'll dance. And then pick up donations from everyone who wants me to  _stop_  dancing. That'll rack up some bucks."

Natasha laughs, and you try not think that you  _could_  be attending with Howler; that instead of missing him, wishing you were back on that rooftop tonight - he could be there.

It's a minor disappointment.

The gala is on the fourth floor of Avengers Tower; the ballroom level where Stark holds his indoors parties. A massive space; marble-floored, full of bodies wrapped in bright or dark costumes and laughing, with music going on from somewhere and a bar to one side of the room.

A step lands hard on your ankle, and your eyes water as you bite your tongue.

Nat wanders through the crowd. Unsure of who else you'll approach, you follow. Her target - no surprise here - Sam, Bucky, and Steve, standing somewhat to the side as they talk amongst themselves. Two figures in black, and Steve…

Not what you expected. Biting your lips to keep from laughing, you join the group and force your eyes on Natasha. "Nice," she says, looking everyone up and down. Steve, as some warped, old-timey version of Conan the Barbarian (does he even count as a superhero?), Sam as Howler, just as he'd threatened, and Bucky?

Bucky is Black Cat.

Your throat is dry. Your eye twitches.

He's done well. Better than Natasha, at least - he has the golden contacts, the leather vest. It's uncanny, really. Maybe he'd found a decent picture somewhere. But for now, his fingers are merely curled around a glass of something, and - he's staring at you back, a frown on his lips.

What did  _you_ do?

"I should've known Steve would want to show off his twelve-pack," Natasha says dryly.

"If I had that many muscles, I'd show them off too," Sam points out. "I like the ears, Nat."

"Thanks. I feel like Black Cat has wasted some costume potential."

Your hands are clammy, and you press them together awkwardly. At least you have gloves to disguise it...

"I don't think she wears stilettos," Steve says.

"Creative license," Natasha brushes this off. "Hey, did you guys hear? There's a rumor going around that the real Howler and Black Cat will be here tonight."

Bucky, taking a sip from his drink, splutters. Sam's mouth falls open in glee, and Steve just frowns.

Your head is pounding. This was a  _bad_  idea. Spluttering, you ask, "How - who said that, Nat?"

She shrugs. "Tony."

_Tony._

"I hope they're here," Sam says confidently. "I'd love to get Black Cat's opinion on Bucky's costume." Bucky shoots a glare at Sam - but Sam only chortles. "Someone has a  _cru-ush_ ," Sam adds, a little sing-song, as Bucky's cheeks beneath his black mask turn bright red. A fair reaction - at that moment, you feel about the same. Bucky has a crush on you? Well, you  _as_ Black Cat. Well, just Black Cat, really.

"If I see her, I'll send her your way, Barnes," Natasha teases. "For now - Sam, let's go dance."

"Alright, girl."

"Before you go," you interject quickly, pulling out your phone from your pocket. "Let me get a picture."

Obligingly the four of them squish together, mostly smiling. Two Black Cats, a Howler, and a Conan. A great selection.  _Click_  goes the camera, and they break apart. Immediately Nat and Sam disappear together in the crowd. Absently you start to upload the picture to the Official Avengers Twitter, as Steve suddenly straightens, setting his empty glass on the bar.

"I see Sharon," he says without preamble or explanation, and then, he's gone too. You twist your head, staring blankly back at him - but he's gone.

"Huh," says Bucky's voice, and you turn back 'round. You give a long-suffering sigh, and put your phone away.

"Did you put Steve up to that costume?" you ask, lifting a brow. "Or did he lose a bet?"

Bucky snorts. "Definitely not. Would've tried to talk him out of it - but he was determined. We used to read the Conan books back during the Depression - press our noses to the shop window every time a new one came out. Have you seen Stark?" he changes the topic rapidly.

"Um - nope."

"He's in some skin-tight suit. Spider-man, I think."

"You  _think_?"

"It's...unclear. I think he tried to draw the lines on with a marker."

You blink, and then laugh. Bucky's grinning - that's nice. He'd looked a bit bored, earlier. Then his weirdly-golden eyes are sweeping up and down on  _you_ , and you feel heat rush to your face. His face is still, as if calculating.

"You look good," he says at last.

"I know it's not a great depiction, since no one really knows what Howler wears," you say quickly. "But I did my best."

Bucky's eyes travel up to yours, his expression still frozen in that strange, sort of searching look. "Uh huh."

"You look good, too," you hurry to say. "Um - Natasha's wearing green contacts."

"Oh?"

"Why'd you choose gold?"

Bucky's eye twitches. Then the tense moment passes, and he shrugs. "Just felt like it. Cats can have gold eyes, can't they?"

"Well, sure. I think so."

"Hey, you wanna dance?" The sudden question is startling, and maybe a little clumsy - almost as if Bucky is in a hurry to divert the topic. You blink.

"Oh," you say stupidly. "I - I sprained my ankle today. Um, on the stairs. I'm not sure I can do anything too strenuous."

"Your ankle? Are you okay?" Above his mask, his brows are furrowed.

"Of course, it'll be fine in a few days," you tell him.

"Looks like the band's doing something slow next," Bucky says abruptly. "Is that too much, or…?"

His question hangs in the air. Studying the sweeping lines of his black mask, around those eerie gold eyes above his scruffy chin, half-shadowed beneath the hood...Howler leave his chin scruffy. Your heart skips a funny beat - now  _that_ doesn't make sense. You shake yourself, and smile.

"No. I'd love to dance.  _Slowly_."

Bucky's grin stretches across his face. Setting his drink next to Steve's, he offers a crooked elbow to you - hesitating only a moment, you take it. His muscles are too easily felt beneath the tight black sweater clinging to them. You swallow.

The lazy, sultry R&B grows louder as Bucky steers you towards the main part of the crowd, already dancing near the stage despite how early it is in the evening. Elbows are bumped - a few people squeeze past, and finally, Bucky tugs you close. There's a searching sort of frown on his face, and you offer a smile.

His hand goes to your waist. The other picks up yours, and you jolt at the sensation of  _hardness_  beneath the glove; you hadn't expected that. But, of course. He has a metal hand. And arm. Bucky's brows pinch, his lips twisting.

"I'm sorry," he says at once, loosening his grip on your hand. "I know it's uncomfortable - "

"It's fine," you hurry to assure him. "I just - forgot."

He stares for a moment, and then dips his head in a nod. His metal fingers tighten on yours again, and you're being swayed to the music.

"The glove helps," Bucky says suddenly.

"Huh?"

"The metal is cold," he explains. "Not exactly pleasant to touch. The gloves helps."

It's a funny scene - superheroes all dancing together. You catch sight of Natasha and Sam - Black Cat and Howler - dancing near the center of the crowd, looking amazing and drawing attention with their laughter. You turn back to Bucky, and attempt something to lighten that little frown on his face.

"So," you muse. "A crush on Black Cat, huh?"

His skin flushes pink beneath his costume mask. "Just because Sam said it," he mutters. "Look, she's cool, ok? I think she's really awesome. What she does."

You smile, suppressing a little bug of excitement in your belly. People making Black Cat memes and the handsome Bucky Barnes admitting a crush are two totally separate sides of the secret identity coin. "I'm sure she'd like to hear that," you say lightly. "Admiration from the Winter Soldier? That's cool, too."

Bucky blinks, and his expression softens as he chuckles. "Not many people think that." His voice is wry. Almost apologetic.

"Then people are clearly wrong."

"Sweet of you."

"I've always considered it good manners to compliment who I'm dancing with," you tease. "That way I don't get dipped against my will."

Now Bucky laughs aloud - and you giggle along. It's a more comfortable dance after that; some tension has dissipated. Is it a little strange to be dancing so close with someone you barely know, with someone you kind of work for? Maybe. But it's nice, too. There's something about the feel of his arms, the breadth of his chest that causes warm prickles of comfort to spread across your skin…

"Last night Tony was working on some taser claws," Bucky says suddenly, eyes misted over. "He's gonna leave them for Black Cat."

"Huh?"

"Apparently she's been nicking his stuff from the dumpsters," he explains, lowering his voice slightly as he gazes down to meet your eyes. You blink - mind blank - and then swallow convulsively.

"How does he know that?" you ask in a croak.

"Her gear is all exclusive," Bucky says. "And apparently the only people on the security cams are employees - that means she must work here. Cool, huh?" His eyes are lit up like an eager school boy. You set your weight wrong on your ankle, and grimace.

"Or she's really good at tampering with security feeds," you suggest.

"We'll see. I think he's gonna leave those taser claws in the dumpster for her to find."

"What, wrapped with a bow?" you ask, quirking a brow. "Then Tony will find out for  _sure_  who she is. That's bait. I hope she wouldn't be dumb enough to get caught."  _And with your warning, Bucky - she won't be_.

"Hmm, good point." Bucky crinkles his nose beneath his mask. That crinkle that makes you smile. "Well - maybe it could be left somewhere else for her."

"Maybe you could hand-deliver it," you tease. "I bet she'd like having a secret admirer."

Bucky's eyes land sharply on yours. His mouth opens - he stalls, and then he takes a breath. "Aren't - I mean - don't you think - Black Cat and Howler are together?"

Your mouth falls open. " _What_?"

"I mean - like, dating. They're always together, saving the neighborhood and stuff. They seem to work well as a team."

A hollow laugh bursts from your lips. Have you been too obvious? Spending so much time with Howler? If even  _Bucky_  suspects something… You clear your throat, and try to divert the topic. "Really? Anyone who works well together is dating, now?"

Bucky frowns. "Well - fair, but - "

"Besides," you hurry to add. "Anyone could be beneath those masks."

He blinks, lips clamped shut. Then opens his mouth again, and with a scrunched look, says, "What?"

"You know…" you give a shrug. "They could be criminals."

"...Criminals?"

"Yes, you could have a crush on a criminal," you tell him, grinning a little at his obvious, confused discomfort. "I guess a mask is a turn-off for me, personally."

Bucky's hand on your waist tightens slightly - he's frowning now, brows furrowed as he stares hard into your eyes. "Now wait just a minute - " he starts to say, but his voice is too loud now - the music has stopped. A moment later as Sam appears as if out of nowhere, clapping hand on Bucky's shoulder and startling the poor man into cussing. Bucky's hands drop from you, and you step slightly back as Sam sidles in.

"You better watch out, Bucko," Sam says with a grin, his eyes bright with mischief. "There's some fresh aloe in the greenery arrangements by the stage, so don't get too close. We don't need you sneezing and spraying snot all over the place."

"Gross," you say, as Bucky's jaw ticks.

"He's allergic," Sam offers by way of explanation, with a wink. "Although you really haven't lived until you've heard one of the Winter Soldier's sneezes, here. It's the best sound I've ever heard. I keep trying to get it as a ringtone on my phone, but Bucky's just not interested…" Sam ends on a long-suffering sigh, and you lift a brow at Bucky, who sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Come on, girl," Sam says, grasping your now empty hand. "Dance with me next."

"Happily. Thanks, Bucky," you have to twist your head back to call to him - Sam is quick to pull you away, and Bucky is left standing alone, looking very baffled, after you and Sam.

The winding down of the party finds you alone at the bar, sitting tall and yawning, as you sip some water to clear your head. Nearly everyone has left, and Stark is the only one still going strong on the dance floor, the weary band following and a wan Pepper.

How does he have so much energy?

At least the monetary goal for the children's hospital has been met.

With another yawn you push the mask up onto your head. More water. The bartenders are cleaning glasses, and Sam and Natasha are stretched out on a couch by a massive rubber plant.

Your phone pings. But you're so  _tired_  and it's almost time to leave - sighing, you pull it out of your pocket. It's from Howler. Your stomach fills with funny butterflies - whyever that is - and you swipe the screen open.

_Missed you tonight, kitten._

Of course he did. Unable to keep from smiling to yourself, you reply,  _Absence makes the heart grow fonder._

_Does that mean you want me to be fond of you?_

_Like most dogs, I think you're fond of everyone whether they want it or not._

_Meow! Clearly your night did not go well..._

You chuckle a little to yourself. There's definitely more potential for giving Howler a hard time, but maybe your heart isn't quite into it. So you form a kinder response:

_It was fine. Hope yours was good._

_Only when I thought of you_.

_Has anyone ever told you you're a complete and utter sap?_

_You say it like it's a bad thing, kitten. I promise it's not._

_Sure, Howlie. Sure._

A second text message - your cab has arrived. Tucking your phone back away, you stand and yawn as you wander towards the elevator. Finally the music has stopped, and the ballroom just seems huge and empty. And tired. Or maybe that's just you.

Bucky is in the hallway, staring down at his phone with a dopey smile on his face. But he glances up as you pass, and you give a cheery wave. His mask is hanging around his neck, and he has pushed his hood back to let his mussed hair fly free.

"'Night, Bucky."

He grins as your phone  _pings_. "Night. Thanks again for the dance."

When the elevator doors close, you take out your phone again, biting your lip to keep a giddy smile from forming.

_Sleep tight, kitten._


	7. Quarter Past Midnight

The rough gravel of apartment rooftop slides under your boots; keeping pace behind Howler, hardly able to breathe for laughing, you glance back over your shoulder at the approaching thugs, brandishing guns and shouting at you to stop.

You turn back forward as Howler disappears over the edge of the building - a mighty  _clang!_  reverberates in your ears as his weight hits a fire escape. Two steps behind him, and you aren't quite brave enough to just jump over. There's a railing - you twist around to slide down and onto the landing, where Howler is waiting, back to the wall, clutching his belly as he grins over at you, breathless chuckles still wheezing.

"We gotta keep going," you say in a strangled voice, itching at some sweat forming beneath your mask. "They're still coming."

"'Course they are," Howler says cheerily. "They want to kill us."

"And yet you remain so chipper," you snark, and start taking the steps down the fire escape two at a time, Howler hot on your heels.

His teeth glint in a bared grin, bright in the darkness. "Just another night on the town, darlin'. If you won't let me take you on a date - at least we have this."

There are shouts from the roof - only two stories from the ground now, there's a gunshot and a  _ping!_  as a bullet misses. Cussing, you jump the last story onto the ground, barely after Howler. Who had jumped from three stories up, the idiot.

"Back this way," he suggests, and as another  _ping!_  makes you flinch - he grabs your hand and starts hauling you deeper between the buildings; away from the main streets and to where the shadows have shadows.

Soon only your panting breaths can be heard, and your own quiet running footsteps. Howler is nearly silent - how he does that, you don't know - and when at last you're struggling to breathe he stops suddenly at a chain link fence, gazing up. You turn back, wincing at the stitch in your side.

The alley behind, is silent. Distantly you can see flashing lights from passing cars and neon signs, but even the sounds of city streets are barely audible.

You turn back to study Howler beside you - he's still holding your hand, contemplating the fence.

"You wanna climb that?" you ask. "Or are you gonna jump again?"

"Ha, ha," Howler says, casting you an irked look - but beneath the irritation, he seems pleased. "Which direction do you think they'll go to find us?"

"Probably this way. They saw us go down the alley."

He nods, then, glancing over your shoulder, grins and jerks his head towards another building. "Back up to the rooftops, kitten?"

A ladder. Phew, that's going to be a climb. You shrug, and finally tug your hand away from his (regretfully), to start up the metal rungs. Your arms are burning - following the scrape with the thugs (which had ended on a bowl of jello being up-ended on their ringleader's head - long story), the chase from the party across several blocks and then a few rooftops, and now the subsequent climb several stories - your heart is pounding, and some water would be very appreciated. But safety first. Not daring to look down, you hope that you aren't being followed…

Well, by anyone besides Howler.

You heave yourself over the concrete lip, falling onto the flat roof on all fours. Howler is right behind. Not even winded. Unfair. Breathing in dust, you give him a glare he doesn't see - planting his hands on his hips as he gazes out at the city ahead.

"Nice view," he comments.

"Yeah, real nice," you grunt, and hoist yourself to your feet, brushing off the grey dust of gravel from your dark clothes.

"Didn't you think that was fun, kitten?" Howler teases, glancing over at you - you meet his startling blue eyes, and shrug.

"It  _was_. Until we had to run for our lives."

"That was fun, too."

"Because you have the athleticism of an Olympian," you point out. "I'm just normal. I get tired."

"It was fun because it was with you," Howler says, and in two swift strides he's at your side, dusting off the last bits of grey from your hood. You freeze, staring up at him. He offers a smile. "I have a present for you," he says, quirking a brow. "If you like that sort of thing."

"Tell me more," you say hoarsely.

"I was gonna give it to you earlier, but the whole jello thing - "

"Yeah, I get it - we were busy. Can we sit? I need to rest my legs."

His lips curl into a grin. "Anything you want, kitten."

You open your mouth to say something snarky and maybe a bit suggestive - but clamp your lips closed just in time. Face burning, you trudge to a brick chimney with several exhaust pipes sticking out. For now, it's quiet, and you lower yourself to the ground with a sigh, leaning your head back against the brick.

Howler plants himself beside you, shifting his weight to the side as he pulls something from a pocket in his black pants. A fabric bag, which he extends to you.

"I'm not much of a thief," he says. "But for you - I'll make an exception."

"Oh?" You tug the strings on the bag, and into your lap fall - gloves. Black gloves, with wires running through like blood veins, with silver points on the ends. Startled, you don't respond right away. Howler fills the silence.

"Taser claws," he clarifies, and you blink stupidly down at them. Isn't this...isn't this what Bucky had told you about? That Stark was making for you to find? "They're pretty cool," Howler goes on. "Pack a punch."

"How did you get these?" you ask abruptly.

"Um - found 'em."

"Where?" You glance up at Howler's face, and the discomfort in his expression is obvious. Lifting your brows, you ask, "Stark Industries?"

"I - how do you know?"

"I've heard a rumor that I work there," you reply dryly. He opens his mouth - likely to ask whether it's true - but you cut him off. "Don't even try wheedling that out of me, dog." And you pantomime zipping your lips closed. But it only makes Howler smile.

"You gonna try 'em on?" he asks, his voice lowering slightly.

"Why, you want me to test them out on you?"

"Me- _ow_ ," he mimics, making you laugh. "If you're into that sorta thing, kitten, I'll let you zap me  _any_ day."

Tugging off one of your old gloves, you shoot him a sardonic look. "Where's your collar, Howlie? Who let  _you_  out without a leash tonight?"

He grins as you shove your hand into the new glove. It's tighter, and has a few rubber grippers on the fingers. That's good for climbing. Frowning, you flip back the fabric at the wrist - ah. A few buttons, which you push at random. Blue sparks fly from the claws, and you yelp in surprise.

"Whoa!" Howler laughs at the shocked expression on your face. "What did you expect?"

"I dunno - that I'd have to touch something for them to start electrifying," you say in a rush, pushing buttons again. Quickly they stop, and you let out a breath before tearing off the glove. "I'm gonna test this out later," you say. Back into the bag. It's quiet again. With the bag on your belt, you tilt your head back towards Howler. He's resting his forearms on his knees, gazing forward - until he rolls his head to the side to grin at you.

"Thank you," you say, feeling a little stupid. His eyes have that way of turning your insides to mush...you swallow, and offer a smile. "It was kind of you to think of me."

"Well, whether you work at Stark Industries or not," Howler drawls. "Don't want you getting picked up on cams. Stark would love to find out who you are."

Which you know, of course. That's why you hadn't gone after the bait yourself, however tempting taser claws were. And he'd thought to get them for you...heart thumping, you gnaw on the inside of your lip as Howler quirks a brow at you.

Wait. If he  _knew_ about them, and  _got_ them…

But that strain of thought is completely derailed as Howler leans close, his breath brushing against your bare cheeks for a half-second before his lips are on yours. A surprised gasp strangles in your throat. But then his gloved fingers are on your jaw, lips eager, and your body flares to live with white sparks of electricity through your veins (tasers still on your mind), and the gravel crunches as Howler shifts closer. His musky, hot scent fills your senses, and his taste on your tongue is enough to make your mind go completely blank -

Your legs protest, still burning from the run - but you sit forward on your knees, startling Howler into breaking away. Keeping your eyes locked on his, chest heaving, you sling a knee over his thighs - his eyes darken into sensuous pools of navy blue. Hands creep up his broad chest, to cup his chin and tilt it up. He swallows, and you dip your head to continue the kissing…

His hands press into the flesh of your thighs, keeping you in place. His scruff is prickly under your gloves, and the temptation to take them off, to feel him entirely...nearly overwhelming. Lips on lips, your sensitive skin is starting to chafe, but it's hard to care.

It's worth it, to have his tongue on your lips, soothing the burn…

" _Kitten_ ," he murmurs, voice husky and smooth. You whimper, head lolling as the haze of heat from his voice crawls across your skin. One of his hands is around your neck, stroking the sensitive skin before his lips travel south, nibbling as he goes...your face is pointed to the sky, the inky blackness threatening to swallow you whole…

The fire in your belly is getting unbearable. Impulsively you catch his empty hand in yours, desperate for more touch, more friction, more  _anything_...and as he groans into the shell of your ear, a million goosebumps break out on your skin. A moan parts your lips, and squeezing his hand, you notice in a daze that it doesn't give.

Interesting.

Tangling your fingers with his, you roll your hips closer to him. As he huffs a low, shivering chuckle into your neck, your mind tries desperately to catch up.

A hand that doesn't give? Must not be flesh, then. Maybe he has a prosthetic. But even plastic...no, it doesn't feel like plastic. Bemused, you smile a stupid smile. It kind of feels like Bucky's hand. It's a pretty distinctive sensation, even through the glove. Familiar. You'd held a hand just like it a few nights ago -

Your smile freezes.

No, that can't be it.

Can it?

There's a rushing in your ears as a dozen memories battle for acknowledgement -

Howler, scaling a ten-foot fence. Howler, dodging bullets and never winded. Howler, who had plans for the night of the charity gala. Howler, who knew of Stark's taser claws and retrieved them for you…

Bucky, who has a crush on Black Cat. Bucky, who knew that Black Cat has golden eyes. Bucky, who is on his phone during briefings when you're getting texts from Howler. Bucky, who was suspicious of the accuracy of your Howler costume. Bucky, who was absent on an Avengers Mission...the same nights Howler was on a 'business trip.'

The blue eyes? The dark hair? The unshaven chin?

You. Are. An.  _Idiot_.

"You smell so good, kitten," Howler's voice is a vibrating buzz. More kisses are peppered behind your ear, your hood going askew - but you don't protest. No, you're limp head to toe, and after a few moments more of your internal voice screaming, he pulls away. Brows quirked, his eyes meet your wide ones, and he chuckles. "Cat got your tongue?" he purrs. In  _Bucky's_  voice. You stare back, too shocked to even  _reply_  - and then his eyes flit to where yours are still clenched around his metal ones. He blinks.

"Hey, I'm sorry, okay?" he says quickly, and shakes off your grip. "I know it's off-putting, but darlin', I - "

Feeling returns to your numb limbs, and you scramble off his lap with shaky breaths. Howler -  _Bucky_  - stops talking, but then starts to protest as you take a few steps backwards, your mouth hanging open as if you  _want_  to say something, but you can't -

"Hey, kitten," he says, voice all soothing and warm as he twists, reaching after you. Imploring. Pleading. "I - "

Biting your lips together, tasting blood - you shake your head violently. Your ankle hits a vent, and you cuss under your breath. Clumsy.

You have to leave.

You turn, and run. Bucky's shout after you is ignored. Heart pounding in your throat, you make for the door to the building's internal staircase - it's unlocked - and you hurl yourself through, cutting off another shout. Down the steps, two at a time, blinking in the green safety lights - floor after floor and hurtling across landings -

When you finally burst through the front door of the building, unguarded and facing a half-dead street, you're panting for breath, the panic in your veins swelling and blotting out every last particle of the heat from kissing Howler. Kissing Bucky.

Oh, my gosh. You've been _French kissing the Winter Soldier_.

That internal scream starts again, spurring you on as you run down the sidewalks, running for home, for safety - ignoring the baffled glances your way and hoping with every thud of your heart that Bucky isn't following -

Bucky. Howler. Bucky. Howler.

How could you have been so  _blind_?


	8. Wolf

How could  _he_ have been so blind?

Testily you slam into your desk chair, half-rolling away before you wrench yourself back in front of your desk, glaring at the blank screen of your computer. Only your reflection - which stares back looking as though it hadn't sleep at all - which you hadn't - and it gives you no answer.

Aren't super-soldiers supposed to have super sight, super hearing, super smell - shouldn't Bucky have recognized you  _months_  ago? Is this serum enhancement not as great as it's made out to be, or is Bucky just dumb?

The coffee burns your tongue, and you scowl. The sun is too bright. And your eyes go to the elevator far across the office too often - and why should you be worried? Bucky  _clearly_ has no idea you're Black Cat. He'd not going to be anywhere near you today, unless Sam decides he needs to wheedle something out of you.

The day  _drags_.

Pictures of the gala to upload and send off to publishers and magazine and sites. More pictures to be searched out online - copyright issues to be navigated. Emails to be sent. A message from Stark, halfway through the day, suggests bonuses for the heads of each department and rewards for the workers. He's ordered pizza for lunch. Great.

The grease floods your head with endorphins, and makes your stomach hurt.

It's no better by the time you decide to head home - it feels like it's been an unproductive day, despite all that you accomplished, and your head hurts. And your heart. Everything else can wait until tomorrow, after another chance to to rest and recuperate…

Stepping into the elevator, the door slides shut and the end-of-the-day chatter from your floor is cut off. Ah. Your eyes close, revelling in the silence of the gentle whirr of machinery. A hot bath sounds nice. The type of movie you watch when you're sad...some of that European chocolate Stark had brought for the staff a few months ago.

The elevator stops. Too early. Straightening, you force a pleasant expression as the door opens again, and -

Bucky.

Your smile freezes.

He doesn't know. His ignorance is in every line of his face - his polite but distant smile, his curt nod as he steps in beside you.

The door slides shut. Your fingers tighten on the straps of your bag...eighteen hours ago, and his tongue had been down your throat -

"How was your day?" Bucky asks, breaking the tense silence. Does he even know that it's tense at all? And how does this perfectly nice man become a flirty vigilante by night? So suave, and irresistable - when now he's simply...guarded? Stoic?

"Um - alright," you manage to say.

"Good."

More silence. His arms are crossed - you admire the curves of his muscles beneath his sweater for about a half-second before mentally kicking yourself. Face hot, you choke out,

"Um - do you have plans for tonight?"  _Be polite. Don't be suspicious._

"Uh, yeah. I'm gonna go out."

So Howler will be on the prowl - and likely looking for  _you_. Not that he knows it's you. You gnaw on your lip.

"You?" Bucky asks, startling you.

"Oh - um - nah, just staying in."

Again, more silence. Is this the longest elevator ride in the history of elevator rides, or what? It  _shouldn't_  be. You and Bucky are on perfectly good terms - under these identities, that is. You hadn't had any issues talking to him at the gala…

"Hey, about the other night," Bucky says suddenly, startling you again. "I appreciate that, um, dance we had. It was nice of you not to pull away, when - " He pauses, and his metal fingers uncurl, and flex. You stare. "It's unpleasant," he says frankly. "But thank you for not treating me differently."

And how are you supposed to respond to that? "Well, of course not," you tell him. "That...wouldn't be right."

"It's only that - " Bucky's brows pinch, and his lips twist. "Someone else did pull away. So I appreciate you."

Someone else.  _Black Cat?_  Your throat is suddenly very dry, and you clear it awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," you say.

"'S alright." He tilts his head towards you, offering a wry smile - which you attempt to return - before his eyes return to the elevator door. He's unhappy - that much is clear. Because Black Cat had run away?

Words fall from your trembling lips before you can stop them, Bucky turning his attention back to you - expectant, waiting, patient. "Bucky - " Why is your voice so hoarse? Wetting your lip, you try not to notice the white spots in your vision, the trembling in your knees and hands - "There's something I should tell you - "

The elevator door opens, and your voice strangles into silence.

Ground floor. Three people get in. Too surprised to leave, you're pushed to the side on numb legs. Everything is  _hazy_  - Bucky has left, shooting you a confused sort of smile - and you watch his back retreat through the Avengers Tower foyer before heading through the main doors.

Shoot. You're supposed to go, too.

"Sorry," you mumble, and stick out a hand to keep the doors from closing. Sidling through, you keep your head down, ignoring the protests, and walk - much more slowly - in the direction Bucky had gone.

Well. That was...something.

* * *

Bucky's nostrils flare as he scents the night air - acrid gasoline, distant food of mixed origins, people and perfumes and, strangely - the smell of printed newspapers and books. Must be a stand nearby. Keeping his eyes trained on sandwich shop across the street where a couple of suspicious types are hanging out, he bites down on the toothpick between his teeth, and his frown deepens.

The night is young. Yet, having stopped two muggings and helped a tipsy group of girls into a cab, Bucky isn't sure if he's done much at all. Besides feel that ache in his chest from missing Black Cat.

Where  _is_  she? Hiding from him?

The possibility is sour in his mouth.

His eyes follow the suspicious types as they put out cigarettes beneath the heels of their boots, and wander on down the sidewalk. Bucky lets out a breath, and suddenly frustrated, runs his fingers through his hair, messing up his tidy bun.

Standing, he sets a brisk pace across the building on the ledge. The danger of falling keeps his blood alive; at least tonight - near the edge, he breaks into a run and takes a mighty jump to sail through the air for the next building.

And the next. And the next.

It relieves some frustration. But not all.

With no destination in mind, Bucky doesn't look behind him, or to the sides - just going across the neighborhood, building by building. The noises of the city follow him, the lights flashing by -

He skids to a stop, as a dim shadow in the darkness forms into a person - a body - sitting in a chair -

A head turns, and a face shines in the darkness. Bucky blanks. And the expression on the person visibly blanches, wrapped in a thick blanket and eyes glittering with the reflection of the city lights.

Shoot. It's  _you_.

"Um," Bucky starts, searching for some explanation for his showing up on a roof where you are - for his being out of breath and disguised -

Wait. You don't know it's him. As far as you know, he's only Howler…

Bundled up in a blanket and reclining in a chair, you lift a brow as Bucky shifts his weight awkwardly. "You're Howler?" your voice is small in the darkness.

"Um - yeah."

A pause. Your eyes travel up and down on his form - Bucky blinks in surprise to be so appraised. Then, your gaze returns to his.

"You know me?" you ask. He hesitates - what kind of a question is  _that_?

"Er, no," Bucky lies. "I was just - keeping watch tonight. Didn't mean to, um, run into anyone up here. Most of the rooftops I visit are, you know - abandoned."

A laugh. He can't help smiling at that - you do have a nice laugh, and for some reason it seems to warm some of the frost creeping into his chest. That's unusual. Bucky can't remember that happening before, and you've worked at the Tower quite a while…

"Well, don't let me interfere with your work," you say next, smiling up at Bucky. "The city always needs saving."

Bucky returns your smile, without thinking. And, still not thinking, he blurts, "Why are you up here, anyway? Isn't it cold?"

"Well, you're out here, aren't you?" you return mildly. "Are you cold?"

"Oh - sure."

Still smiling, you shrug, lifting up a corner of your blanket. "I'm alright," you say. "It's peaceful up here, anyway."

"It is," Bucky agrees. "I...I spend a lot of time thinking on rooftops. Not so many distractions."

"Yeah." Voice quieter now, your eyes flit back to the office building across the street. Bucky studies your profile in the dim light, wondering why on earth his heart is picking up pace - when have you ever inspired this sort of reaction from him before? It's all very strange. Is it because of the gala? That dance? That you aren't afraid of him -

"I saw a mugging down that way once," you say, tone sounding indifferent as your lower your chin to indicate a visible alley kitty-corner to where you're sitting.

"Uh huh?"

"Mmm."

Silence. Your fingers are worrying the edge of your blanket, all curled on on the chair with the reflection of the city in your eyes - Bucky creeps closer. You gnaw on your bottom lip with your teeth. A response flares within him: Black Cat chews her lip just like that. It's cute. On you, too.

"When was it?" Bucky asks softly.

"Oh - months ago," you shrug dismissively. "Long time."

Unable to stop it, he chortles. "I thought you were telling me so I could go help out."

Your response is a giggle. "Too late."

"Guess so."

A pause. "Black Cat stopped it," you add in an absent voice. "I - I think it was the first time she was ever seen in public."

"Oh."

Bucky should keep going. Keep running. Hide again. He's done well staying away from people, for the most part - keeping his identity safe. But even as his brain urges him to leave you, his heart chants a different tune.

You're nice. You're familiar. You're…you're something. He can't quite put a finger on it.

The gravel crunches beneath his feet as he takes another step. Your head swivels to him, and a small little smile plays on your lips. "You can sit, if you like," you offer. "Take a breather."

Bucky lowers himself onto the concrete ledge off the roof, but not facing the city - facing you. With his eyes fastened on yours, he watches as you reach over to lift a mug, and take a drink. Gaze never wavering.

"So," you say conversationally, setting the mug back down. "How's crime?"

He snorts. "'Bout the same as always. Worse than it should be, in general. Not too bad, tonight."

"That's good."

"Yeah." Bucky's nose is itching. Sniffling, he takes a breath.

"You know," you muse. "I dressed up as you for a costume party last weekend. Now that I'm getting an up close look at you, I think I did pretty good."

Startled, Bucky blinks - and then laughs. He  _had_  thought your costume remarkably accurate that night. He'd wondered if there were pictures of him floating on the internet. If there were, you'd know it. It's your job, after all.

"Well, I'm flattered," he teases gently. "Not every schmuck in a mask gets a pretty girl to ape him."

The expression on your face falls slightly - oh no, Bucky had said the wrong thing. Before can stumble out an apology, your voice is sharp.

"You're bleeding," you say, leaning forward slightly to squint in his direction.

"I - I am?" Bemused, Bucky puts his gloved fingers on the spot you're staring at - and he feels sticky softness under his jaw. Oops. Must've happened during that second mugging; the thief had had a knife…

"I have some medicine, if you like."

Startled, Bucky can only nod in return. You stand, keeping the blanket tight around you - and pause. Then open your mouth,

"Just wait here a minute, okay?" you ask, a little strangely. "I'll go grab something."

"Wait - you  _live_ here?"

You blink back before starting to laugh. "What, like I just hang out on random roofs?" you tease. "Of course I live here."

"I'm pretty sure I've been on this particular roof before," Bucky says. "I've just...never seen you here until tonight."

"Mmm." Lowering your eyes, you scoot to the side, making for the door that leads inside. "Just - I'll be back, okay?"

"Okay."

Bucky laces his fingers together, twiddling his thumbs as he stares after you. He sniffs again. Why is his nose itching? Maybe there's something in the air. He'll have to ask you when you return.

The door finally opens again, just as he's starting to get anxious. Smiling, a tube of medicine in your hand, you approach Bucky and offer it to him. He hesitates, and takes it. It's the same ointment Black Cat had given him…

It's not fair that everything reminds him of her.

Bucky winces as he dabs some on the cut. It hadn't hurt before. Figures.

His throat is tickling now. Before he can do more than shield his face in an elbow, his body spasms - a horrific sneeze, and his eyes water as he moans pitifully.

"Oh my," you say after a startled moment. "Are you...okay?"

"Just a sneeze." Bucky sniffles up some snot, embarrassed.

"Uh uh. Well - one of the residents here keeps some plants over there," you tell him, waving a hand to your right. "Allergies?"

"Must be." Bucky sniffs again. "Aloe. I'm allergic to aloe."

"Ah. Well, I'm sorry."

Bucky caps the medicine, and tosses it back to you. You're sitting down again, but this time on the edge of the chair. Your fingers curl over the tub as you keep your eyes down. Another little tug in Bucky's chest makes him frown; what is it…

"I should go," he blurts, before he can stop himself. "I, um - crime to stop, you know."

Your gaze lifts, and there's another leap in his chest at your small smile. "Good luck, Howler," you say. "I - um - don't get hurt, yeah?"

"I never  _try_  to."

A laugh. He's earned another laugh. Bucky is grinning as he stands, giving you a parting wave as he continues on across the rooftop. Heart lighter, steps brisker, smile wider.

But  _why_?

And why is it  _your_ face in his mind's eye now, instead of Black Cat?


	9. Apartment

Bucky is zoning out during a briefing. Again.

In his defense, the Avengers business was the first on the agenda to be completed. Normally the team is dismissed afterwards, but Tony has barely paused to take a breath all morning, and Sam, usually the one to ask if they can leave, is playing a rousing and whispered game of hangman with Steve on a spare pad of paper.

Bucky yawns. The turtleneck he'd worn to cover up the last bit of scab leftover from the near-stabbing last night stretches. It's itchy, and hot. Thankfully his wounds heal fast; if he had to wear a turtleneck for longer than a day he might scream.

He tugs his phone from his pocket, trying not to be disappointed if there are no messages: and...there are none. Bucky had texted Black Cat the night before, wanting to know if she's alright. Desperate to know, though he'd played it cool. He thinks.

Nothing.

What had happened?

His eyes wander down the table, Tony still droning, to see you. At the back of the room, which is unusual. Eyes downcast. Also unusual. Bucky frowns.

" - Which is why we're going to focus some efforts on recruiting Black Cat to our team," Stark finishes. Bucky jolts - so does everyone else at the table, and he doesn't miss the flash of panic in your expression. Regretfully he turns away, wondering.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Natasha asks.

Stark narrows his eyes, giving her a look. "Weren't you listening?"

"No," Nat says flatly. "Why are you going to recruit Black Cat?"

"Because she's clearly skilled, and she wants  _some_ connection with us," Tony explains. "She took the gloves I left out as bait near the dumpsters."

Bucky's lips twitch, threatening a smug smile. She did  _not_  take the bait. Not that Tony would ever know - Bucky had hotwired the cameras before he snuck out the gloves to take to her himself. As much as he's been wanting to know the face beneath her mask, it wouldn't be right for Stark to find out by trickery…

"But you still don't know who she is," Steve clarifies, finally looking up from the hangman game.

"Uh, no," Tony says, tugging at the collar of his shirt. "She's too good to be found out."

"Hey, don't you want to recruit Howler, too?" Bucky interrupts. "Or is  _he_ not good enough?"

Stark stares at Bucky for a moment, a brow arching. "I feel a responsibility to leaving a protector in the streets," he says mildly, at last.

"Spiderman," Natasha suggests.

"Daredevil," Sam says, without looking up. He scribbles in a letter, and Steve groans. "Ha! I win."

"Tony," your voice cuts in, and all eyes swivel to you. But you keep your gaze on Tony, expression impassive. "I'm not sure how you think you're going to find Black Cat, or convince her to join you - but chances are if she hasn't contacted you already looking for placement, there's a reason she wants to stay under the radar."

"Hmm." Tony nods, and even Natasha makes a sound of agreement. It's a good point. Bucky considers this - and from what he knows of Black Cat - you're probably right. "Well," Tony says at last, sighing and shoving his hands in his pockets. "I still want to give it a shot. I'm gonna put  _you_  on that."

Your mouth falls open. "But, I - "

"Just contact her," Tony says smoothly. "An interview. A picture. Ask if she would like to be a part of the Avengers. Free rent in the tower, gear upgrades, better scope for her talents."

"I - "

"If what you say is true, she'll probably bolt at the sign of any of us," Tony points out, gesturing around the table. "You're just a civilian. You can get her to talk, most likely."

"That's a pretty unfair assignment," Steve says. "No one's ever gotten an interview with her before. Or a real photo. She darts from the limelight."

"For good reason, apparently," Natasha adds dryly.

But as Bucky watches, Tony's attention returns to you - you gulp. "I trust you," Stark says, and his voice has a kinder edge to it than usual. "You've proven how creative you are, and how resourceful. There's no deadline - just do what you can."

You wince. Bucky opens his mouth to volunteer to take the assignment - after all, he's the only one in the room that has even  _met_  the real Black Cat - but he remembers how she ran from him, and he hasn't seen her since. Prickles of leftover irritation and disappointment close his lips, and he slumps in his chair.

"I'll see what I can do," you say at last, and Tony beams. There's a definite reluctance in your face; resignation, even. There's something in Bucky which responds to that, reminding him, for some reason he doesn't quite grasp, that it's important that you mustn't be distraught, ever.

Wherever that something came from, anyway.

Still, it's not long into Stark's next topic of discussion that Bucky makes up his mind. He'll go to your apartment tonight, to offer his help in finding Black Cat. Perhaps he  _does_  have some advantage, and he wants to help you succeed.

His resolve doesn't waver, even when he's suspending from the roof of your apartment building. There are no fire escapes on the side you live on (Bucky had checked for your address on file at Avengers Tower, and the blueprints of the building itself) - and so, several stories off the ground, he lowers himself slowly until the toes of his boots are on the ledge of a window. There are curtains blocking out most of the light, but a dim sliver of gold leaves a streak on his dark pants until he lowers himself further.

Bucky crouches, and peeks an eye through the slit in the curtain.

You. Still wearing your work clothes, face pinched, as you wander around the small space of your living room. A camera, a tripod. Oh -  _pictures_? Bucky's mouth nearly falls open in surprise - had you  _actually_ found Black Cat? Or is this some other project?

He presses his gloved fingers into the stone around the window, securing himself slightly better. Stark had developed some suction fabric that gets to be useful at times like this. Bucky was lucky to have snitched some prototypes.

You turn away, and Bucky watches your form as you leave the room.

Now what? Should he sneak in? Open the window? Knock?

Indecision stalls him. How would you even react to a nearly-midnight visit from a vigilante? It's one thing happening upon each other on a roof under neutral circumstances - but something totally different for him to have searched you out, and wanting in your private residence.

Bucky frowns. Should've thought about this  _before_  rappelling down.

While he wrestles with his irritation, a new figure enters your living room now - eyes catching onto the familiar black-clad form coming 'round the corner, Bucky nearly falls backwards in utter shock as he recognizes -

_Black Cat._

In  _your_  living room.

Guess he didn't need to volunteer his assistance, after all. How had you done it? Something in Bucky is certain that no matter how he coerces, or how Stark might quiz you - you won't be revealing your method.

_Fascinating._

A pounding in his chest, a little heat in his face, Bucky watches with wide eyes as Black Cat pushes a few buttons on the camera. She looks so different in the light; so different and yet so  _familiar_  - the black hood, the mask, the golden eyes he can see perfectly even from outside.

She turns off the lights next. Bucky blinks. A red light on the camera is flashing, and as the dim outline of Black Cat moves - he sees as she strikes a pose. The blinking stops, and she straightens.

Lights back on. She picks up the camera, studying the screen for a moment. Scrolling through the shots, most likely.

An urge to knock on the window - but no. Bucky squashes it. Black Cat is avoiding him. He shouldn't intrude. And what explanation does he have to offer for hanging outside a civilian's window -

Setting the camera back down. Black Cat reaches up, throwing back her hood. Bucky's mouth really does fall open this time, too startled to move to give her privacy - and she pushes up the black mask from her face.

Oh, hell. It's  _you_.

There's no mistaking it. So it wasn't the real Black Cat you were getting shots of. But the outfit and gear are so  _accurate_  - how can that be?

Bucky's head hurts, whirling a million miles an hour as he adjusts his toes on the ledge.

You reach down, tugging from your belt a familiar sack. And from it - the taser gloves.

Bucky nearly gives a strangled cry in surprise. How had you gotten  _those_? He'd given those to Black Cat - unless you've stolen her stuff -

Couldn't be. Couldn't.

You  _move_  with the same feline grace, as you study the gloves in your hands - your lips  _curve_ the same sad smile - and the echo of a hollow laugh through the window is the  _same_.

You're Black Cat.

As Bucky stares - you freeze. Head swivels to the window, a frown pinching your brows - but Bucky's too quick. Even as he trembles with shock, he dodges out of sight, breathing heavily the cool air of the night.

His heart is  _pounding_.

How? How?  _How_?

His brain hurts, whirling a thousand miles an hour. Start with what he knows. A trick he learned from therapy.

He knows he needs to get out of there.

Bucky makes it back to the rooftop in less than fifteen seconds, spurred on by uncertainty and surprise and about a thousand other things. Quickly he disables the rappelling equipment, bundling it up and tossing a backpack over his shoulder.

What else does he know?

He's not feeling searching out crime tonight. Back to the Tower it is.

What else does he know?

Well, he'd thought he was in love with Black Cat. Until she ran away from him - Bucky frowns as he starts off at a jog across the rooftop. Why had  _you_  pulled away that night? You hadn't at the gala - but when you and he were kissing…

Bucky takes a jump and rolls onto the next building, the realization hitting him harder the concrete.

You  _knew_.

His face burns.

It becomes harder and harder to hold onto the truths he knows the nearer he gets to Avengers Tower. Picking up the pace only makes it harder to breathe, his heart to race faster. Rooftop to rooftop. Gravel flying beneath his boots.

Through the alley at the back of the Tower. Into the maintenance room. Tugging off his stealth clothing, shoving on jeans and a sweater. Mask crumpled. Backpack back on. A deep breath. Leave the room. Elevator.

To his increasing surprise, Sam's in there already, and he glances up when Bucky appears.

"Hello," Sam says, a little slyly. "What were you doing down here in the parking garage?"

"Running laps."

"Uh huh." Whether Sam believes him or not - Bucky isn't entirely sure. He frowns, and Sam looks him up and down. "I was going out to get a drink," he says. "Wanna come? You look like you could use one."

Bucky hesitates. As much as he wants to think through everything rattling in his brain, a distraction is tempting. Might even help him center his wits before he delves into some deep thinking.

"Sure," Bucky says.

"Then let's go." Sam steps off the elevator, and Bucky falls into step beside him.

The bar Sam chooses is a little place, two blocks from the Tower. They must be used to him there, because Sam is greeted by the bartender and a selection of people who must be regulars. Bucky is barely given a second glance, and he slides onto a wooden stool as Sam exchanges a few handshakes all around. His heart is still thumping, and Bucky drums his fingers on the bartop.

"What'll it be?" the bartender asks, eyeing him.

"Um - whisky, neat."

Voices are chattering, and Bucky takes a deep breath. Then Sam is clapping him on the shoulder - Bucky jolts - and gives Sam a glare as he perches on the stool next to him.

"So," Sam starts, grinning his big, toothy grin. "What's got your panties in a wad? Oh, thank you."

The bartender slides Sam a drink, and then Bucky's whisky.

"Money problems?" Sam presses. "Girl problems? Job problems?"

Bucky tries to smile - it's mostly a wince as his metal fingers curl around the glass. "Girl."

"Ahh!" Sam's eyes light up. "So, Tin-man finally has a girlfriend."

"Not really, it's just - "

"Well, I would've been surprised, anyway," Sam says with a chortle.

"She could be a girlfriend," Bucky insists. He hopes he's not telling a lie - the progress he'd thought he'd been making with Black Cat - the eager way she -  _you_  - had responded to his kisses. And you - even before the  _incident_  (as he's terming that rooftop incident which had driven you away, upon presuming you had discovered his identity), at the Tower and during work functions you had never seemed wary of Bucky. Perfectly friendly. No hint of discomfort.

Bucky tastes the whisky, pondering.

"She cute?" Sam asks, one brow lifted.

"Yeah."

"She like you?"

"I - think so. I mean, I don't think she  _dislikes_ me."

Sam laughs. "Huh!"

"We haven't exactly been truthful with each other," Bucky blurts. "Um - there have been some secrets?"

Sam studies him - Bucky doesn't like that one bit. "Secrets, huh."

"I only just found out," Bucky admits. "She's not exactly who I thought she was. But...it's not...it's not a - what do you call it? A dealbreaker?"

"Mmhmm." Sam nods wisely. "If it's not a dealbreaker, then what's your confusion?"

Stumped, Bucky takes another sip of whisky. What is there to be confused about? The shocking reveal had been confusing - but it makes sense, now that he's had some time to consider it. Stealing those cat-eye contacts from the dumpster? Yeah - Tony was right to suspect an employee.

"I don't know if she feels the same way about me," Bucky says at long last.

"Uh huh." Sam leans forward, bracing his elbows on the bartop. Lips pressed together, he eyes Bucky out of the corner of his eye. "She spends time with you?"

"Er, yeah."

"Willingly?"

You'd agreed to dance with him - and he hadn't gotten the impression you hadn't wanted to. Even as Black Cat, you'd never sent him away. Not really. The walls you'd put up were for safety, more than anything, he thinks. You had said so yourself,  _"who trusts a stranger in a mask?"_  Of course you didn't trust him. As Howler, that is. But as Bucky? You're friends, he's reasonably certain.

"Yeah," Bucky says, and there's a warm feeling spreading in his chest.

"Does she look at you like you could change her world?" Sam asks next.

Startled, Bucky has to ponder this, too. He can recall that night he'd first kissed you - overlooking the city, straddling a roof ledge hundreds of feet in the air. He'd been careful to give you a chance to pull away, to back out. But he can see, in his mind's eye - the reflection of the city lights in those golden eyes, and half-hidden...yearning. You had kissed him back. And the next time, too, before you'd realized who he was.

"She...has," Bucky says, dumbfounded. "I think."

"Well, then." Sam's grin is smug.

Bucky's throat is dry. Instinctively he raises his drink to his lips again - but forget to take a sip. Lowering it suddenly, he says suddenly,

"I'm in love with her."

"Whoa, now! This is the big leagues, man," Sam says with a laugh. "Didn't realize you were so far gone. Do I know her, by chance?"

With a secret smile to himself, Bucky casts Sam a smug look of his own. "Only half."


	10. Afraid of Nothing

Your phone  _pings_  about an hour into your workday - a sigh, a run of your fingers through your hair, and you drag your eyes away from your computer to pick up your phone.

Not Howler. Whether that's a disappointment or relief - there's no time for that introspection. The text is from Sam.

 _Hey, you around today? Tin-man's been looking for you_.

Cue panic.

 _Sorry, I've been busy_ , you text back, heart hammering. There is  _no_ reason for Bucky to search you out. He never really has, before. In a hurry you add to Sam,  _Why, does he need to look over his paparazzi pics or something?_

 _Nah, he looks grumpy in those no matter what_ , is Sam's immediate reply.  _Dunno why, he just asked me if I'd seen you_.

 _I have a meeting in about twenty minutes out for lunch_.  _Sorry_. There. It avoids the fact that you'll be back in the office afterwards - maybe Bucky will give up, and stop searching for you. Now that would be ideal.

The "meeting" is you alone, with your feelings, crowded thoughts, and a slice of pizza from a nearby deli.

Unfortunately, another text breaks through that reverie - and this time, it  _is_  from Howler/Bucky:

_Hey, kitten. Hope you're alright. Haven't seen you around. Miss you._

You don't respond, and turn off the screen with shaking fingers.

The bone-deep uncertainty of what to do with Bucky drags at your limbs. For now - do nothing, and hope that some sort of resolution will stare you in the face with little effort on your part, and certainly no heartache. No  _more_  heartache, at least.

The realization that Howler had charmed you into feelings beyond partnership - beyond a kiss here or there - and possibly beyond a crush is, frankly put, disarming. Hadn't you resolved not to fall in love with a man who wears a mask? Well - now that you know who's beneath the mask, that he has been your friend for months, that you trust him - you never really stood a chance.

Perhaps Howler alone is too flippant, too flirtatious. Perhaps Bucky alone is too serious, too reserved. But together? Or combined? It makes your heart beat a little faster. A lot faster. Too tantalizing to even consider. It makes your fingers shake and tremble all afternoon.

Exhausted at the end of the long work day, you trudge towards the elevator with your bag dragging your shoulder down. You're the last one leaving on your floor - there had been some difficulties with a smart-alec hacker attempting to get into the official Avengers social media accounts. It's the thought of ordering takeout and going straight to bed that keeps one foot in front of the other, and you yawn as you climb aboard.

The Tower is silent. Closing your eyes, you let yourself lean against the wall. All the way to the ground floor -

No. The elevator stops. Pushing yourself upright as the door slides open - you feel your face drain of blood as you see Bucky stalking towards you, eyes intently fastened on  _you_.

 _Keep it cool_ , you tell yourself frantically.  _He doesn't know -_

But that's not a Bucky look, glinting in his eye. That's a  _Howler_ smirk.

Oh no. He  _knows_.

Frantically you jab the button to close the elevator doors, your legs suddenly tingling with numbness. "Come on, come on," you mutter under your breath, one eye on Bucky as he advances. Shoot. Still you shove the button, and  _finally_  the doors start to close - too late. Bucky lifts an arm, stopping the doors as he quirks a brow down at you.

"Don't wanna see me?" he asks, voice low and husky and positively  _crawling_  up your spine. You stare dumbly up at him, shifting slightly away as he takes a step into the elevator.

"Um - "

But his lips, twisting in a smirk, distract you. And he opens them to speak. "What? Cat got your tongue?" he teases. Another step towards you, and your back hits the wall. Whether accidentally or on purpose, he's shielding you from a last-minute escape through the closing door.

"Excuse me?" you choke.

"Aw, come on, kitten," Bucky chides, and as your throat goes completely dry he lifts a finger to tilt your chin upwards. There's no escaping the blue of his eyes. A very familiar blue. You swallow thickly. "Don't you recognize me?" he coos, his voice a vibrating purr in his chest. Even though he's speaking very quietly, every word thrums through your body, making the air in the elevator still and tense.

"Bucky," you say, his name trembling on your lips. "What...are you talking about?"

One of his brows arches. He's still smirking. "You know," he comments, all casual and suave. "And I've been waiting to talk to you all day. Tony kept me in briefings for an upcoming mission all day - otherwise I would've been on the prowl earlier. I've missed my kitten."

You open your mouth - but no words come out. Then his fingers are straying to your hair, pushing it away from your face as the glint in his eyes softens to something that turns your belly to flames and your legs to jelly.

"You don't really hate me, do you?" Bucky murmurs, his tone coercing and sweet and husky. "You're just...tryna keep yourself safe. Keeping your identity safe."

Darting your tongue out to wet your lips - still, words won't come.

"But I know you. I  _know_  you." The word is positively  _caressed_ by his low voice. "And you know me, dontcha, little kitten?"

Your face burns. Your vision is tunneling around his face.

"No girl can kiss a fellow like you did and pretend not to care. I'll let you act that way though, if you're not ready yet." Bucky's face is lowering towards yours - a little smile on his lips as his hand cradles your jaw. Your heart threatens to burst out of your chest at any moment:  _thump THUMP thump THUMP_. Barely even able to breathe, you suck in a breath, and taste his scent in a way that lodges a half-moan in your throat.

"Bucky," you say again. "I - "

He quirks a brow, nose about an inch from yours as he keeps a steady gaze into your eyes. Disconcerting doesn't even cover it - it's like being faced with a firing squad, but the only threat is a kiss that will make you want to claw off Bucky's clothes and have your way with him -  _yes_ , even in the Tower elevator.

"I'm sorry," you blurt, gnawing at the inside of your bottom lip. "Look - I was just, surprised, okay? And then I was scared - of what you'd say - of how you'd react - and I figured I should say something eventually, but I'm a coward and I never know what to say - "

Bucky has started to chuckle - a rough sound, which lights his features with a very handsome happiness. Evidently he doesn't want to hear more babbling, because he closes the distance between your lips and cuts off your spiel entirely.

His hands find your waist, squeezing slightly as his warm mouth works against yours. Held up between the wall and Bucky, you feel your senses flood with everything Bucky - his taste, his touch, his small groan as your lips part beneath his.

 _Ding_. The doors open.

You peek an eye open - but without pulling away Bucky reaches over to jab a button. The doors close again, and your stomach swoops as you feel the sensation of going up.

"Bucky." It's a sigh - relief. Wanting.

"Darlin'. My beautiful kitten." His lips pepper kisses on your cheek, your jaw - before moving to your neck. Unfair. He knows how much you like that. Your bag falls to the ground with a  _thud_ , and you wrap your arms around his neck as his hips press forward, keeping you pinned to the wall.

 _Ding_.

"Whoa!"

Now Bucky does break apart from you - but only slightly, his head turning to stare. You peer over, certain that you're about to lose your job - but it's only Sam. Bug-eyed, and looking as though Christmas came early.

"So  _this_  is who you were talking about!" Sam says gleefully, as Bucky desperately reaches over to shove more buttons. "I should've known! Man, you're so - "

But what Bucky is remains a mystery: the doors close, Sam's voice is silenced, and Bucky lets out a sigh as he rests his forehead against yours. His fingers tangle in your hair, and yours roam up his chest. The muscles beneath his sweater are hard, and twitch under your touch.

"We may not live this down, kitten," Bucky says wryly, pulling back to meet your eyes.

"Sam will get bored of it, eventually," you say with a shrug.

"Not before he tells everyone about it, though."

"True."

The blue of Bucky's eyes is glittering all sorts of things - happiness, contentment, eagerness. It makes you warm all over, with the anticipation and prospect of future joy that you can barely comprehend with your wits all muddled by his kisses.

His gaze flickers to your lips, then back up. "Can I take you out?" he asks, voice all soft and sultry. "On a date."

"I guess," you allow. "Since I know who you are."

"Tonight?"

"I don't have any other plans."

"Hungry?"

" _Starved_."

His lips curl into a grin. "Maybe we can see where the night goes," Bucky says, insinuation lacing his tone. You blink in surprise - and then he adds, "Heard of a new gang making trouble uptown."

Laughing, you tighten your grip around his neck as the elevator dings yet again. "You sound like you know how to show a girl a good time," you tease. "Give me your best, Howlie, and yes - we'll see how the night goes."

Eyes not leaving yours, Bucky leans over to pick up your bag, slinging it over his own shoulder as he offers his opposite arm to you. There's a challenge there - and the slightest wink as you stare.

"Gallant tonight, are we?"

"Every night, darlin'. You just have to find that out for yourself," he teases back. You take his arm, biting back a smile - aw, heck, there's no reason to pretend anymore. With a laugh, you let your smile spread as wide as it likes, and you revel in Bucky's grin. Your fingers weave through his, and the certainty of Bucky sends a wash of security over you.

"So. How'd you find out?" you ask, matching his steps through the foyer for the front doors.

"Oh." Here a disconcerted expression takes over Bucky's features. He gives you a sidelong glance, and you lift a brow. "I, um - went by your place last night - as Howler, I mean - to offer help tracking down Black Cat."

"Ah," you say knowingly, after a startled moment. "You were spying."

"I wasn't - "

"I thought I saw something through the curtains," you say severely, giving him a poke in the side as he winces. "Why didn't you just come to the front door, hmm?"

"Um - security cameras. Didn't want to put you under suspicion."

"Uh huh," you say. "Sure, Bucky.  _Sure_."

"Aw, come on, kitten..." His voice is pleading, and you can't help laughing as he leads you into the inky black of night, leaving the light of the comfort behind. Bucky sticks out his lower lip as he glances down at you, and you laugh harder.

"Don't even try that on me," you declare. "I've been practicing to become immune to your charms for  _weeks_. No more spying."

"Immune?" Bucky's eyes sparkle skeptically, and you clear your throat awkwardly. "I won't spy anymore, kitten," he allows. "I intend to spend more time inside with you now, and less hanging from rooftops."

"Mmm. How optimistic."

His laugh echoes in the night, and his arm snakes across your shoulders now to pull you close. To be tucked into his side is a wonderful, safe feeling. You sigh - burying your nose slightly into his chest and inhaling deeply - yes, this is Bucky, this is Howler. Every good quality of each, and none of the secrecy.

Well - now it's time to wonder how on earth you got so Bucky - er -  _lucky_. You snort to yourself.

"What is it, kitten?"

"Nothing. Just pleased."

His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes, which in turn reflect the street lights. Much more romantic, though. As you continue to gaze up at him, Bucky leans down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose.

 _Very_ pleased.


	11. Howlin' For You

_Several days later._

Your fingers curl over the ledge of the roof as you lay on your stomach, peering below into the dark alley. Thanks to your special contacts, you can see perfectly: a group of thugs, exchanging something in heavy black duffel bags. Bucky's guess had been guns - yours had been heirloom jewels. It's unlikely, you know - but his laugh had been worth it.

Glancing up, you catch Bucky's eyes from across the alley - he's lying on the roof across from you, observing the scene from his own perspective. A roll of thunder from the sky makes you shiver. This will have to be finished fast if you want to get inside before the rain starts. Bucky gives a short nod, and you give a thumbs up.

You crouch forward on your feet, keeping an eye down below - no one has noticed anything suspicious - and twist 'round to start rappelling down the side of the building at the same time as Bucky. So being partners in crime - or partners in preventing crime - has had its advantages. You've been spending less time jumping from fire escapes, that's for sure.

The voices of the thugs get louder the further down you go - they seem to be arguing. That's good for yours and Bucky's appearance. Only one story above them, you pause, peering over your shoulder at the scene below. Now there's shoving and shouting. Too bad for them. Great for you. You strain your neck further, and meet Bucky's eyes. He's grinning as he signals to drop.

Easy peasy. Loosen belt, twist through the air, and a perfectly timed, arched landing on the shoulders of one of the thugs. He shrieks, but it turns to a strangled cry as your taser claws bite into his neck. He shudders, and falls to the ground as you jump slightly to land on your feet.

Stark knows his tech, that's for sure.

There's only five thugs in total - Bucky has already grounded two, and you one, and as he dodges a punch from the leader of the gang the last one comes towards you. A fist flies past your head. Jab to the kidney - he grunts - you kick his knee - he howls - and the taser claws do their thing as you grip the back of his arm.

He crumbles. Another roll of thunder shakes the sky, and you step over his body.

"Did you call the police already?" you ask Bucky. His elbow is wrapped around the leader's neck - but glances up as you approach.

"Yeah - ETA is two minutes," he says. Not even out of breath. The leader's eyes are bugging out, and a moment later he stops struggling, and slumps. Bucky lets him drop.

"I thought we had a no killing rule," you remark.

"Oh, he's not  _dead_ ," Bucky chirps. "Just unconscious. He'll wake up in a few hours, and by that time he'll be behind bars."

"I'd say you have to teach me how you do that, but these are good enough," you say, flexing your fingers as blue sparkles crack at the claws. "I should really send Stark a thank you note."

"Tony does love praise."

A flash of lightning - and the first droplets of rain patter down on the ground, intermittent and thick. You flinch as the next peal of thunder rumbles. "Let's go," you say.

"Your place or mine?"

"Mine's closer. Unless you wanna be soaked."

Bucky quirks a brow over his mask. "Do you  _wanna_ be soaked?"

Pursing your lips, you consider the glint in his blue eyes as yank down your rappelling ropes from the building. "Depends on who - or what - is doing the soaking," you say at last.

Bucky laughs - and equipment bundled, he grasps your hand and starts off a quick pace out of the alley. Already police sirens can be heard drawing nearer, though they're drowned out by a much louder crack of thunder. Pricks of dampness through your hood, through your jacket - you and Bucky are  _not_  going to make it in time.

"I  _told_  you we should've bailed sooner," you gripe, as you shield your face from the onslaught of rain. The heavens have opened, but you can still hear Bucky's laugh over the roar.

"You didn't mean it, kitten," he says, all certain. "Don't pretend. I know you."

You continue to grumble under your breath - so maybe he's right. The irritation of getting wet overrides that. When Bucky glances over, that smug grin on his face, you wrinkle your nose back at him - he just laughs again.

"I've heard cats don't like to get wet," he teases.

"That has nothing to with my alter ego and everything to do with my being sensible. I did  _not_  want to do an extra load of laundry tonight."

"I'll do it for you, darling. I don't mind."

"Oh,  _please_."

"Since you asked so nicely." A wink. You hold back a smile as you try to ignore just how  _warm_  his flirting makes you feel. And because your apartment building is in sight. Quick run tonight - the streets are pretty empty, considering it's near midnight and pouring rain.

There are already puddles outside the front doors, and you jump over them you throw back your hood in the dry safety of the entryway. Once inside, boots squeak on hard floors. Bucky swivels his hips, making his squeak louder with a wicked grin on his face - you laugh, and dart up the steps.

"Hey! Come back!"

But you're already on the next landing. Bucky is faster, though - he takes the steps three at a time, and before you're halfway up the next staircase his arm has wrapped around your middle, slowing you down. You squirm, giggling as his hot lips find your neck.

"Not running from me this time, kitten," Bucky growls in your ear. Shivers.

He hasn't let you go by the time you arrive at the door to your apartment. A quick fumble with a key as Bucky continues to nuzzle your neck, and you twist 'round to push him through the door, hunger for more of his electric touches making you a bit more rough than usual. But Bucky only grins, and reaches behind to lock the door behind you.

"Boots off," you order, tugging on the front buckles of his jacket.

"Only if yours come off too, darling." Another wink. Boots clatter to the floor, and then he's dragging you close again - lips, teeth, tongues all clashing - down the hall. Desperate to get out of your damp clothes, you wrench off your vest, which falls somewhere, and then the itchy mask and your sweater. Bucky has yanked off his own jacket, eyes riveted on yours in the four seconds it takes that pauses the kissing. Then his lips are on yours again, no less desperate, and your back hits the wall. Breathing ragged, your fingers fumble with his belt. Pants to the floor next, and the hot, wet skin of his bare thighs can be felt even through your own jeans.

"I saw you checking out my backside," Bucky mumbles, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck as you moan. "When we were going down the building. Like what you saw?"

Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, wrenching out his hair elastic so that the dark curtain of his hair falls across his shoulders. "I always do," you say hoarsely - his hands encircle your waist, and then you're wrenched upwards to wrap your legs around his hips, and his eyes glitter into yours. Oh, none of the lights are on - you'll have to remember to take out your contacts later. You smile, and pull his face close again for more kissing.

Eventually you and Bucky  _do_  make it to the bed, the last remnants of clothing scattered just as indifferently to the surrounding floor. It'll be a sopping mess later - but for now - who cares?

On your back, you tilt your chin up for more kisses as Bucky pushes himself between your thighs - a mouthful of hair impedes the kissing, and he splutters, drawing back to push his hair from his face.

"Where's my hair tie?" he says crossly. "I can't kiss you properly. Yuck."

With a winning smile you proffer your wrist - and he glares good-naturedly down at you as he pulls the elastic from your wrist. "Just keeping it safe," you say, all innocence. Bucky sits back on his haunches, raking his fingers through his wet hair to bundle together. Your eyes travel across his toned stomach, his chest, his shoulders - and finally his face, where he's smirking as he snaps the elastic in place, hair now safely out of the way.

"Well, if you wanted to stare, why didn't you just say so?" he murmurs, and then his weight is on you again, lips urging yours apart for a thorough taste.

Lightning flashes, thunder rumbles - but you don't notice. As far as you're concerned, there's nothing in the world except Bucky; ragged breathing, languid moans, sensations of fire and embers flaring to life - fireworks and crashing waves, tsunamis and erupting cries -

And when you doze in Bucky's arms afterwards, the rain outside has petered to comforting strikes on the windowpane, the thunder no more than a distant sigh.

* * *

Tony Stark stands in front of a massive window in the residential Tower kitchen. It's late in the morning - bodies are only just starting to appear, moaning for coffee and bacon - but the mug in his hand is growing cold.

"Where's Barnes?" he asks, without turning around to the others.

"Haven't heard," Steve answers groggily. "Why?"

"He's missing."

Silence. Then Steve again, voice more awake now, "Missing? What do you mean, Tony?"

"He disappeared last night after dinner, as he usually does," Tony says. "But he never came back. He always comes back - two or three in the morning - but not this morning. Still gone. Right, Jarvis?"

_"That's right, sir."_

"Have you seen him on any security cameras around town?" Natasha asks next.

_"No, miss."_

"Huh," Steve says. "Well - it was storming pretty good last night, maybe he got caught somewhere and had to get a hotel."

" _Sergeant Barnes has not used his credit card, sir,_ " Jarvis supplies.

"Good morning!" Sam's cheery voice joins the group. "Did you hear that thunder last night? It was crazy!"

Finally Tony turns around, to view the kitchen at large - Steve and Natasha at the coffee machine, Clint slouched at the table with his head on his arms, Sam searching in the refrigerator.

"Do you know where Bucky is?" Steve asks Sam. Long shot. But to Tony's surprise, Sam laughs.

"Of course! Don't you?" he returns. Steve, Nat, and Tony all exchange a look.

"No," Natasha says dryly. "That's why we're asking  _you_."

Sam laughs again, a yogurt in each hand as he closes the refrigerator door with an elbow. "Bucky has a girlfriend," he announces, very smugly - Steve's jaw drops, Natasha blinks, and Tony just squints.

"Is it someone we know?" Natasha asks.

"Sure is. Don't you ever review your own security footage?" Sam quirks a brow at Tony. Startled, Stark opens his mouth - but already Sam is informing Jarvis of a date and time, and a blue-tinted projection is cast across the kitchen.

Even through the blue, Steve's red face is quite visible as the footage from the elevator is played on loop.

"That's enough," Tony says, and the projection dims. "Thank you for that, Sam and Jarvis. I'm officially traumatized. Could have done without seeing Barnes's tongue used in that way." But another troubling thought comes to him them, and while the others are cackling amongst themselves, he wanders to the sink to dispose of his cold coffee.

"What is it, Tony?" Steve's voice breaks through his reverie.

"Hmm?" Tony turns around, crossing his arms as he leans back against the counter. "I'm just surprised, that's all. Didn't know Black Cat was such a player."

Three confused glances. Clint is snoring.

"Didn't you know?" Tony says innocently. "She's Black Cat."

"No way." Steve, after a startled moment.

"And - " Tony adds. "With the glimpses we've gotten of Black Cat and Howler over the city, I figured they were together." He shrugs. "Jarvis, show us what you got last night."

Just a fuzzy picture being projected now - but the image is clear enough. Howler and Black Cat, running together through the dark city, hands clasped, silhouettes just visible from a flash of lightning. Then another image - outside an apartment building, mid-step and halfway through the door. Clearly there are no words of goodbye there.

Tony studies it with a frown, and the others murmur.

Huh. Talk about nighttime wanderings. If you're Black Cat, and you have a thing with Howler, and had disappeared into your apartment building together, and Bucky hasn't been back…

A grin creeps up Tony's face. "Oh," he says, smugly interrupting the others. "I guess that explains it."

But they frown back at him. Steve is the one to take the bait, his brows furrowed.

"Explains what?"

* * *

It's a distrant strain of music that drags you from peaceful sleep. Annoyed, you flop over in bed. The space beside you is cold - he'd better not have left - and you peek open an eye with a frown.

Evidently he had. But as your ears prick up at the music, you can hear shuffling in the nearby kitchen. Better.

Jazz in the mornings isn't entirely pleasant, though. As you yawn, stretching your arms overhead in the weak sunlight filtering in through your bedroom curtains, you relax a little longer. Give him a chance to make up for leaving you alone, and then for being irritating. Of course, he hadn't  _known_ that you'd planned on seducing him before leaving the bed. Or letting him leave.

The music turns off. But as silence descends upon the apartment, a low voice picks up the tune, drawing nearer the bedroom. A sultry voice, that curls your lips into a smile, your skin to break out in anticipatory shivers...

_Black cat, come visit me,_

_I don't care what people say…_

Bucky appears in the doorway wearing an apron, and balancing a tray between his hands. His eyes are sparkling at you, full of wicked mischief and fond affection, and you feel your cheeks warm as he continues to sing,

_I saw your golden eyes,_

_Sparkling in the moonlight…_

He places the tray on a bedside table. It smells excellent, but you only have eyes for Bucky. He's not wearing a shirt under the apron, and he's grinning as he bends down low to kiss the tip of your nose.

_Black cat, one day things will change_

_I'm gonna wipe away your bad name_.

He straightens, and giving a little shake of his hips, turns round, and your mouth falls open at the sight of his bare backside -  _cooking naked_? You burst into laughter, but it doesn't stop his song.

_Has anybody told you, I care_

_Has anybody told you, I love you?_

"I think the number of Black Cats at Tony's gala should answer that," you retort. "Not to mention all the graffiti."

Bucky laughs - low and rumbling as his smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. His hair is all mussed, but handsomely so, and it sends tendrils of delayed arousal through you as you sit up in bed, bundling the covers around you as Bucky unties the apron and tosses it to the ground. Where the reminder of his and your clothes are still scattered. Oops.

"Good morning, kitten," he coos, crawling over you in the bed - he pauses to kiss your lips briefly - not enough, you grumble to yourself - before plopping into a sitting position beside you. Very close. With his bare chest pressed to your arm, you give him a sidelong glance, smiling.

"How long have you been practicing that little routine?" you ask.

"Weeks," Bucky declares, and tilts his head up to kiss the flesh of your neck. " _Months_."

"Garbage," you murmur, but there's no heart in it. All your attention is on the prickles his lips are sending across your skin. Shifting against the pillows, you twist to face him - lifting his chin in your hands, and planting a much more thorough kiss there, which deepens until your heart rate is all out of control and Bucky's hands are roving beneath the covers.

Breakfast is forgotten.

For all the passion and urgency of the night before - this is sweet and sultry and slow; tender kisses over love bites, gentle hands stroking lazily with no sense of time. Even the climax is indolent, though no less dramatic. By that time the breakfast is cold, of course, but you lay in Bucky's arms several minutes afterwards, his fingers tracing circles on your skin as you close your eyes. Yours rest on the curve of his metal bicep, growing familiar with the sensation. But not afraid of it.

"All that work for nothing," he sighs, his voice vibrating in his chest. "I should've known."

"If you'd stayed in bed like you were supposed to, we could've gotten this done with  _first_ ," you snark. "Then you could've prepared breakfast to your heart's content."

Bucky laughs, his metal hand squeezing your waist as he pushes to to the side - eyes shining, and more kissing. But it ends too soon, and you sigh.

"I didn't slave away to make all this for nothing," he teases, and reaches past you for a plate of toast. "Come on, kitten. You gotta keep up your strength."

"For what?" you gripe, but sit up to take a slice of toast. It's soggy and cold. Oh well.

"For later." Bucky winks, his grin beaming across his face.

"That sounds promising."

"It's meant to be."

Cold toast, cold tea. Warm fruit. Funny how that worked out, but it's hard to care - you could eat anything, tucked up in bed with Bucky. He's lying on his stomach, half across your lap. The skewed blankets cover very little, and when he winks up at you, drawing your attention away from his backside - well...you're allowed to admire, aren't you?

The clock ticks towards mid-morning as you finish, relaxing against the headboard and carding your fingers through Bucky's mussed hair as he polishes off the rest of breakfast. Sprinkles of crumbs litter your sheets - but those can be washed. Your rain-soaked clothes from the night before hadn't gotten washed either (no real complaints there; as you'd borrowed Bucky for something less menial), but it'll be a laundry day, that's for sure.

"Thank you," you say at last, when the sun has shifted across the bed to kiss your skin. Not very warm, but something. You yawn, and Bucky rolls onto his side, resting his head in his hand as he grins up at you.

"You're most welcome, kitten," he says silkily. " _Anytime_."

Giggling, you let your fingers drag across the scruff on his chin. He crinkles his nose, in that way that makes your heart flutter because he's just so  _cute_  - and then he scratches his chin briskly to relieve the itch.

"Feel free to make every Saturday morning this lazy," you tease.

"Saturday?" Bucky's brows pinch. "Isn't - it's Friday, darlin.'"

Friday? You blink. "No, last night was Friday, wasn't it?" you reply stupidly.

"No...that arms exchange was scheduled for Thursday," he says. "Um - remember?"

Your eyes widen. The horrible realization knotting your stomach is reflected in Bucky's blue eyes. Friday.  _Work_. And it's nearly eleven -

It's a scramble for clothes, after that.


End file.
